Photo of Five - ramblings

Tonight The Little Man pulled out a calendar a dear friend made for us. It starts with the individual pictures of five Chinese children. Then the second page shows them all sitting together in the orphanage looking bewildered at a birthday cake that one of the adoption moms sent for the second birthday of her soon to be daughter.

It is obvious these are not American children. The candles on the cake are burning and there is not move to blow them by any of the children, just bewilderment at what in the world is going on here. It is also winter. The children are bundled up to the point of having difficulty moving their knees and elbows. And they bundled this heavily although they are inside. But the orphanage didn't have heat at the time our children where there. The children are on tiny chairs and looking at whom ever was taking the photo.

Flipping back to the first page, four of the five children are wearing the same pants. Did they have a lot of this particular pair of pants? or did one pair get around a lot? I happen to believe they had a lot of this pant, as I have picture of our Little Man with his roommate in matching dresses. Yes, people should donate more boys clothing, but don't go crazy as I'm not sure the donations actually make it to the children until the day of adoption - When the Little Man came to us, it was in an European cartoon matching set, with the tags still in it.

How in the world did the five mommies of these children find each other. And then I found the roommate to the mom of Little Man's roommate in the matching dress. Times are different than a century ago, different then 20 years ago. The kids are finding homes. The moms are cyberly-connected.

And when I start to wonder what in the world did I do? Why did I disrupt our lives with this defiant angry little man? Why did I think I could handle this? Why did I think I could parent another child? Why did I think I could provide? - which are obviously depressing thought, but yes, thoughts that I go through so much more often than even I am comfortable admitting.

Then I continue to wonder: why did we all do this? How are we all surviving? Of the five in the birthday photo; one is a single mom; one was on the second adoption after two biologic children; one has returned to china for the second adoption following the first two biologic; one is a family of two kids - one biologic one adoptive, both girls; and us, family of tow boys, one biologic and one adoptive. Of the roommate, after struggles with infertility and an adoption, she is now a first time expecting biological mom.

We are all surviving. Sometimes flourishing, sometimes surviving, but all getting on in life. When I'm overwhelmed, these are people who understand. When I'm happy, these are the people that know how hard it is to reach happiness.

But there are another six moms out there. These moms I do not know, yet we are connected with them. Moms that new their children had medical issues that needed to be addressed. I presume they have good days and bad days. I presume they wonder about their children. I presume they pray/hope that their children are being treated as well as they are, but also that their hopes are being met, to which I'm not sure I meet.

I struggle with loving a defiant child. But if I had to abandon mine, I would pray and hope that someone would love them, care for them, and set them on their own feet in the world. I don't imagine it is easy to abandon your child. Yet, tens of thousands of women fell that is their best choice each year. And then there is a matching tens of thousand women who believe they can love/handle the new addition to their lives.

In the end, I think we both underestimate the pain of the process, the weight of the undertaking, and the uncertainty of the outcome. And that is about the kids and the family structure change, let alone the medical issues that need addressing. But we entered with hope. We continue day to day with hope. And there is really no choice but to believe in our collective hope having some positive long term power.

revisit on Foster parents

Tonight at dinner we started taking down all the holiday cards that are on the wall by the kitchen table. Most have photographs of the families, and some are of photographs of the children that shared the orphanage with the Little Man.

It was interesting to see who he would pick out of the family photos, but there is still a "chinese" connection. I asked him if he remember the orphanage or his foster family, and he looked at me like I was from another planet. Honesttly, the kids give me that look often and I presume it is about me, not them. I reminded him that he lived with another mommy until he could come join me. When I pulled out the photo, he studied it. I asked who is that, which he pointed out himself and then said "I don't know" and "a man" to the people whom he first called 'mama' and 'baba'.

Amazingly, this shocked me as much as the first time when he saw the photo and immediately pointed out mama and baba. Is he forgetting? Is it that he's been socialized into accepting us and not them? We'll never know. And it comes at an interesting time.

This week for the first time he asked me "what's that" about the scare on his lip. I explained he was born with a hole in his mouth, but the doctors fixed it and that's the scar. (check out the book special smile at http://www.aspecialsmile.com/ if you need fodder for conversation with your children, feel free to tell her I sent you). Tonight I showed him a photo pre surgery with his foster mom. He pointed to his lip and siad "no more hole". Amazing. But while I've brought cleft lip/palette up on occasion with the boys, this was the first time The Little Man brought it up, and he brought it up when it was just me and him. Tonight we all talked about it.

This was also a week when his biological mom flashed through my mind on occasion. Not staying heavily, I always dismiss the thoughts of her saying to myself, "I'll send her all the energy I can muster on her big holiday" which is Chinese New Year. Interestingly this year, Chinese New Year falls on Valentine's Day. I don't think the Chinese observe Valentine's day (any one who knows better than I is most welcome to educate me on this subject). But this week I thought more about his foster family. They were in it to help kids, and likely the income as well. But they knew they were a transit stop, not home. I'm not sure I'm a big enough person to do that. If I had to, if a child fell into my lap, and needed the transit stop, I would be there. But would I willingly raise my hand for that role? Wow, not right now. I'm just not the person ready for that role at the moment. So the foster family had been on my thoughts although I said nothing to anyone about it.

The shock of his not recognizing them is weird. Has he moved on? He left them before he was two, so how much should he remember? But leaving them couldn't have been easy. I guess I won't know until he is much, much older if even then. again no great conclusion. Just sharing the moment, the thoughts.

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.

Family, or some facsimile

When you have a child, you start a family. When you adopt, you become a family AND you become part of a village.

A village that sneaks up on you in the middle of the night. A village of courageous, child hungry people, that have some inkling of really understanding what you are feeling even when you are lacking the right words to express it, and even if they are not feeling the same thing at the moment.

Sometimes it is an invisible village, of connections across continents, states, or worlds. Sometime it is the neighbor next door, or the preschool teacher who shares her story. But while invisible, it is there, it is palatable, and when called upon it steps forward.

There are friends, there are work friends, there are work out buddies, but there is just separate stratum of emotion and bond for my mommy friends and my adoption-mom friends. We stop worlds for one another, we move mountains, and we don't even have to talk regularly.

Tomorrow I take a leap. I'm spending 3 days with four families that share an amazing bond. We have photos of our children together in an orphanage. We live across the country. We have differing religious beliefs, economic realities, family make-up, and style. But we have something in common, a process that chose us to find one another, and we took the call once found to keep it going. So we are gathering.

And on the eve of our gathering, it feels like I'm getting ready go be with family.

I'm not blogging this weekend. Talk to you on Monday.

Anniversary

Wild horses in Provence, kind of sums up the last year.

One year ago today I became the mother of two.

My world turned upside down between that day and this.

I'm better for it. In so many ways.

I wanted to write something profound, but this covers it.

home again

The lavender of Provence.

I'm home. I didn't jump a plane to Africa or Asia, but headed back to NYC.

Last night I was trying to explain to the Big Boy that Paris is the capital of France, like NYC is the capital of.... guess what, it's not the capital of anything, when Big Boy suggested, "the capital of the world." Yes, it is. I'm home.

I had a fabulous trip. I missed the boys, and I didn't miss the boys. I didn't miss the chaos that I call starting a business, but it was on my mind the whole time. I improved my photography skills, and I lamented that I just don't spend enough time working the craft (photography that is) while I was still full time working the craft. Sounds schizophrenic as I write it and yes, that is the duplicity of my life at the moment. Really, it is all good, its just me trying to have it all which I know is crazy. I will find balance. I'll start posting a few photos.

I spent the weekend with the boys out in the park, riding bikes and just hanging. It was nice. But an amazing comment came our way, we were hanging with the 'doormans' hosing off the sidewalk, when our next door neighbor stopped to chat. We have four neighbors on our floor. One neighbor we are super friendly with and the boys run relatively freely between our house and his. One is a former Broadway singer, older, and we quite like her and chat regularly. One is a hermit and in eight years I've seen him once, actually last week and didn't realize who he was until he got off the elevator. The last is a single, widow, slightly older lady, whom I'll call Sarah, who is nice, but she puts a case of wine in the garbage once a week (I like a glass wine at the end of the day, but ouch). She usually rents to one person at a time, which the last couple years has been a really nice young gal somewhere around 30 years old. She is a former classical musician like my husband, with a couple harps in her house. She is nice, but we don't chat everyday. But totally friendly when we pass in the hallway. Beyond the people on our floor, we are very friendly with another six families, and friendly with another dozen or so.

Well, Sarah stopped to chat with me and said to my surprise, "I didn't realize until this week that the Little Man was yours. I just thought, 'wow those kids are good friends, he's over all the time.'" While this is hilarious, in two days the Little Man will have been part of our life for a year, it is also amazing that race does make a different. If he looked more like us, then maybe she would have thought she just missed the pregnancy. What also amazed me is that the comment comes at a time when I've started to forget to think of our family as multi-racial; we are just a family.

I laughed with her, smiled and said, "yep, he's part of our troupe now!" and the Big Boy proclaimed, "He's my brother." I guess the big struggles of integration are passed (keeping my fingers crossed): we are just family.

I'm relieving myself of duty

I have struggled for months with the "Do I love him?" question. Yes, the adopted child, not the biological. Why? I don't know. Because it was arranged marriage? Because he liked to bite, pinch and kick me more than anyone else. Because he is the most stubborn person I've ever met aside from me? I want him to get his fair share of me, of life, of love. I have examined myself, my behavior first. And, I've decided its not productive.

I love both my boys, on days. On days, I may not love one of them, or both of them, or either either of them, or the husband (let's not forget that boy in my life!). Generally, I love them all. Not surprisingly I love them all when they are not present. But, I do love them a lot when they are present. The reality is I have two toddlers and the work load (feeding, wiping butts and noses, diapers, refereeing) is just heavy. My standards for myself are ridiculously high. I don't achieve.

When I started the adoption path, I was angry that the social worker asked me if I thought I could love an adopted child as much as my birth child. The answer was "yes" and I felt it shouldn't be questioned. I believed her status as childless and under 25, left unqualified to question my answer. But since then I've questioned it daily, do I love the Big Boy more than the Little Man. And do I "love" the Little Man?

Frankly, the questioning is not productive. I love him. I love the first child. I love the second child. I love the biological. I love the adopted. They are different. They require different activities, different guidance, different training, different treatment, and yes, it leads to different love. Not a lack of love, but something a little different.

Yesterday, I overheard a group of women telling one woman she was amazing for having adopted seven children out of the foster care system after having three biologically (is that a word?). I was part of the group, so it was slightly noticeable I did not chime in as others were commenting that "the kids were so lucky", "how this was such a noble thing to do". How do I contribute when I realize there was loss involved in finding new parents. When I realize 'new parents' will always leave a question in the child's mind about what happened to the original set? More importantly, I still realize that there is a constant level of care, of yes a "love", but also a variable level to "love".

The bottom line is, there is love. And there is no one I love daily, not even me, which is likely the source of the problem. But there is clearly no upside in pitting the love of one child against another for measurement. There is no way to measure a love for a child when the pressures of life are squeezing and circumstances are strained. I could love a child enough to give it a better opportunity than me. I could love the "idea" of a child enough to bring it into my life. I can love the child once it is in my life.

I am putting on the blinders to life, blinders to love, I am calling it love and I am no longer willing to examine this question.

The examination makes me feel bad when I'm not 'in love' with being a parent. It makes me feel bad when I can't do everything I "think" I should. It makes me feel bad that I am not meeting non-parent, non-adoptive parent "ideals". It sucks that I don't live up to my own expectations, let alone the great big bag of bullshit that we all bought about the act of parenting being honorable and rewarding, all the time.

Guess what, parenting is hard. I love my boys. Both of them and the hubby. And I declare myself relieve of the duty of continuing to monitor the "love".