Thrive

I have decided on my Word of the Year. I had written a list of words that I was contemplating, hoping that something would start to stick out and it did. Not long after I wrote the previous blog, the word Thrive began jumping out at me and I seemed to see it everywhere. And it became clear to me that the suffocating stuck feeling I was getting from Stay was related to a desire to grow. So, Thrive seems like a good choice. For 2017 I hope to see my family, personal and work life thrive, to prosper and flourish, to advance, to grow vigorously. I don’t want to be stagnant, staying in one place, I want to move forward, be fortunate and successful, sloughing off all the bad juju from the past and accepting only positive momentum. For 2017 I want to THRIVE.  

A Sad Good-bye

The man who pulled all my baby teeth because I didn’t trust anyone else to do it, not even my dad. The man who taught me to ride a bike, calling, “Peddle, peddle, peddle!” as he jogged alongside me in his front yard. The man who drove the tractor carefully through the yellowed fields for my birthday hayride parties. The man who came over and built my basement door after heavy snows nearly collapsed the rotting wood. The man who took us into the meadow to see the baby calves and taught us how to hold the sweet clover for the cows to take from our hands. The man who helped us wrangle our 4-H sheep and pigs to get them loaded for the fairs. The man who let us sit in the wagon while he picked the field corn. He taught me the meaning of hard work and honesty. I was blessed and honored to call him my PopPop. His passing yesterday leaves and aching hole in my heart. He has been sick for so long and he has fought so hard to regain his strength. It was the stroke he suffered at the beginning of this year that ultimately ended in him giving up the fight. He was tired, his body was broken and no longer his own. His sense of independence was tortuously gone, having to rely on my Nana for every nuance of self-care. He was a good man and a wonderful grandfather. I was so fortunate to have spent so many happy times with him as a child. It seems unfathomable that I won’t ever hear his voice again with his thick Dutchy accent. Or be able to give him a hug. Or have him joke with us, which was his way of saying, “I love you.” As per his wishes, he will be cremated and my grandmother will hold keep his ashes until she can join him. They want to buried with their beloved dog Duchess, behind the pump house in their front yard. After 62 years of marriage my grandmother is having a hard time coping with the idea of being alone. She sobbed as the funeral home wheeled him out of the house early yesterday evening. She had hugged him and kissed his cheek telling him one last time she loved him and thanked him for “one heck of ride.” We sat with her for a few more hours, reminiscing about the good times, sharing our favorite stories from the past. My grandparents are simple, humble people. There will be no fanfare, no fancy funeral. The out-of-town relatives who weren’t there last night will trickle in to visit with her as 2016 comes to an end. The man who I had written about as my hero in third grade will never be forgotten, his memory will live on in each one of us. May he now rest in peace. Good-bye PopPop.

AAA and Enchiladas

We are having car trouble again. Seriously. I ran to the grocery store last night to grab a few things to prepare for tonight’s dinner with friends and when I got back out to the van it wouldn’t start. I called AAA (thankfully my parents gifted me a membership last Christmas and just renewed my membership again this Christmas) and asked to have my battery jumped because I thought that was the problem. When the AAA battery guy came the van still wouldn’t start. He said it was my starter. Fortunately, after about a half dozen clicks he got it started and I was able to drive home in time to put Love Bug to bed. Then I had dishes to wash and enchiladas to make because tonight my friend who lives on the other side of the state is coming to visit with her husband. I only see them once a year between Christmas and New Year’s. Today my dad came by the house in the morning and the same multi-clicks on the ignition got the van started so I could trundle us all off to daycare and work and my dad could drive the van home to repair the starter, which is only a year old, I might add. Unfortunately, when he brought the van back to me he locked the keys inside and I exhausted my 4 roadside assistance get out of jail free cards with AAA. Did you know it cost $50 to get your keys from inside your locked car? Sigh.

 

So, my friend who is coming to visit is a fellow PCOS sufferer. Her and I used to commiserate on our lack of ability in procreating but then I became single and a mom so we don’t chat as much as we used to. I think it was three years ago, just before Primero moved in, that I invited them over for an enchilada dinner. At the time I wasn’t in a very festive mood (I had been selected to take in a 3 week old baby only to find out a few days later he was going to an aunt – I call him the Christmas Miracle baby and you can read about him here and here. Since then it has become our tradition, which was fine when it was just me but has become more cumbersome with the children. I don’t want to throw my mom status in her face, but as a stay-at-home housewife, my friend has no idea how much coordination and hard work goes into preparing a meal, especially after working all day. I know inviting us over isn’t an option, since they stay with her parents, but maybe offering to bring food rather than adding more stress to my already burgeoning plate. I begrudgingly made the enchiladas last night and then washed the dishes and was able to sit down for 20 minutes before bedtime. In addition to the car troubles, we don’t have a working dryer and the sinus cold I thought I beat is back with a vengeance. I feel like poo and would much rather soak in a hot bubble bath than entertain guests. At least all I have to do is pop the enchiladas into the oven and whisk up some cilantro lime rice and dinner is good to go. Of course then there’s clean up….. Sigh.   

A Merry little Christmas

Christmas is finally over. I feel like I can breathe again, the pressure is off of me. Who knew playing Santa was so stressful? I’m not sure why, but I was fairly apathetic about the holidays this year. I was mostly going through the motions, not in a sad way, just in a sort of numb way. I procrastinated on getting gifts and ended up at the mall on Saturday to finish. I also intended to get pictures of the little ones with Santa but the line was too long and Love Bug was too grumpy from not getting his nap at the appropriate time. I felt bad about that, Chica Marie was looking forward to seeing Santa. Perfect Pinterest mom I am not. I mean, they did see Santa at the CHOR Christmas party and there are pictures from that! Sigh.

 

Christmas Eve we went to Primero’s uncles place. I was feeling nervous and reserved about going, based on the catastrophe that happened over Thanksgiving, but we ended up having a nice night. Apparently having his aunt back home (from her trip to help her daughter with the new baby) made all the difference. Everyone was in good moods and having fun chatting, teasing, playing with the kids and exchanging gifts. I spent a lot of time talking to Hermano’s girlfriend (I’m not actually sure that they are together) and snuggling with the baby. She told me something Primero had mentioned a few months ago but I didn’t believe because it was on the heels of him telling me the baby was autistic (not possible to diagnosis in an infant!). The baby has Down’s Syndrome. Somehow it wasn’t caught during the plethora of ultrasounds and testing. When Primero told me about the diagnosis I didn’t believe him simply because I erroneously believed this would be known based on the prenatal tests and ultrasounds done throughout the pregnancy. But, even this day and age science and medicine can be wrong, something can be missed. I listened to the girlfriend talk about taking on two jobs and scrimping and saving to get her little guy something for Christmas. Hermano is currently not working and it didn’t sound like he was putting a lot of effort into finding a new job. Having a baby with special needs is not going to make things any easier on them. Thankfully there are many free early intervention services they can use to help their little guy develop and meet important milestones. I know they’ve been helpful for Love Bug and he is improving slowly but surely.

 

Around 10 pm I asked Primero if he was ready to leave. He ignored me. His uncle ordered pizza. Once we all had a slice or two, I begged Primero to leave. It was late (after 11) and I was exhausted and still had gifts to wrap to prepare for the next day. Primero took a shower when we got home, leaving me to finish wrapping all by myself. I straightened up a bit before tucking the gifts under the tree and feel into bed close to 1 am. I asked Primero to be upstairs by 9 am the next day so we could open presents at our place and then head to the farm for brunch.

 

Christmas morning I woke up before Love Bug. Chica Marie was awake and chomping at the bit to start opening gifts. I held her off by doing her hair until Love Bug woke up. Then I slowly let them open gifts. At 9:15 I called Primero to wake him up. He was grumpy and sullen. He remained this way until well after we returned home from the farm. He wanted to go to his other uncle’s house and was angry that I didn’t let him leave on Christmas. He went there last night to spend the night. I know he said he wasn’t into the holidays this year, although he didn’t say why, and I’m sure this was reason for his moodiness, but it made me feel really crappy. He hardly talked to anyone at my parents place, choosing to sit on his phone playing the quintessential role of brooding teenager. It upset me that he acted that way when I made an effort, no matter how I felt about things with his uncle, to be cheery and have a good time visiting with his family. I haven’t yet had a chance to talk to him about what was bothering him. I know in the past he has been upset when seeing his family getting along so well because it reminds him of the times they were more cohesive and he wasn’t separated from them by adoption. I guess I can understand that to a certain extent but I also can’t because he has access to his family on a very consistent basis yet it never seems like enough to him; his need to be with his family is never satiated, it only seems to grow with every interaction. I try to think what it must be like as a teenager, but I can’t seem to grasp that feeling.

 

I think part of my feelings of apathy for Christmas and the holiday season this year stems from fighting with Primero to get him involved in our holiday traditions I’m trying to create for our family. He refuses to participate in most things and while I get that it isn’t cool for a teenager to do certain things, other things I feel are important. He wouldn’t help make cookies, he sat on his phone. He barely helped decorate the tree and grumbled about it the whole time. He didn’t want to go along to pick out the tree but I had already bought the train tickets (we took a train ride to pick out our tree, something different than we’ve ever done before!). He was irritated the whole time. He refused to attend church, which is common. Instead of going with us to see Christmas lights, he sat in the car and called me periodically to see if we were done yet. He didn’t want to open gifts or let me take pictures of him opening gifts. He almost refused to take our traditional family picture in front of the Christmas tree, but I got him to comply. The constant fighting makes me want to give up, shout “bahumbug!” and be done with it all. But, it especially hurts when he so readily complies with the traditions his family follows. It’s such a slap in the face.  

 

Despite Primero’s glum, Scrooge attitude, we managed to have a nice Christmas. I’m glad it’s over. We were invited to his uncles (again!) for New Years. I’m glad we had a nice time on Christmas Eve but I don’t know if I really want to go over again for New Years. I’d like it to be a more quiet night. Primero simply won’t skip it, so we will have to decide what’s happening. In the past we have stayed home, played games, pigged out and drank sparkling cider until the ball dropped then we would watch fireworks at the Pagoda out the back window. Maybe I’ll be doing that alone this year.

Mom Fail

A fellow blogger wrote “It was ugly. I, was ugly. I admit that because I'm not perfect. I think its a helpful reminder to read about other's admissions of imperfection, especially during the holidays when everyone is wearing matching sweaters, building insanely cute gingerbread houses, and sharing pictures of holiday gatherings.”

 

And I can so relate to this as my experience on Saturday. I wasn’t PMS-ing but I did come down with a sinus cold and was feeling exceptionally grumpy and not mom-like this weekend, especially Saturday. At one point I growled to the two small children, “All I want is for you to go away and leave me alone.” Ouch! They were just being kids, bouncing around the house and playing. But, my head was pounding and I just wanted to sleep. Primero had spent the night at his uncle’s house and so he wasn’t home to run interference. If I had been parenting myself I would have sent me to my room for being so crabby and unkind. It actually wouldn’t have been a punishment because all I really wanted to do was nap. I did not get out of my pajamas all day on Saturday. I did manage to make us dinner but that was pretty much my only accomplishment of the day. There was an ice/slush storm that cancelled all of our plans for the day, so I felt no need to put on regular clothing. Or a bra. I did take a shower and change into fresh pajamas before going to bed.

 

So there you have it, my mom-fail confession. I was ugly. I was grumpy. I said mean things I didn’t mean. We all survived and Sunday was a better day.

New Levels of Frustration

It’s pointless to bemoan the absurdity of the system time and time again. It’s pointless to get justifiably angry when so many professionals seem to be yanking the chain of two small children, keeping their lives on pause. It’s pointless to sit and ponder why there isn’t someone, somewhere who can actually *DO* something about this atrocity.

 

TPR was supposed to occur for the little one’s last week. Today I got the courage to ask our CHOR case worker if she heard anything. She emailed me the response she got from the county case worker – " Unfortunately due to Mother’s attorney being in the hospital with heart issues as well as other personal issues the hearing was continued by Judge L until January 30, 2017.”

 

My response to her was:

 

There are no words. I have reached a whole new level of frustration.

A Fable

Chica Marie has been having trouble telling the truth. She makes up stories, things that have the potential to land someone in very hot water, and she insists they are true. Until, that is, all the players and by-standers are questioned and it turns out Chica Marie told a whopper. Some of the things she reports fall apart when she is questioned, some of them are refuted by her TSS worker or teacher, some we might never know the actual truth. I can only guess she does it for attention, but I am trying to teach her the serious ramifications of telling fibs. So, I told her a very animated version of Aesop’s fable about the boy who cried wolf. She liked the story and has asked me to tell it a few times. We always end the story by saying what it teaches us. Last night, on the drive home Chica Marie told me her version of the story. She included my glib line about the shepherd boy being bored since this was in the olden days and he didn’t have a phone or IPad to entertain him while he watched the flock. At the end of her lengthened rendition, she recounted what we learned. In her words, “We shouldn’t cry wolf when there is no wolf and also, we shouldn’t watch sheep when we’re bored.” Aesop could not have said it better himself…..

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

The End of Stay

For this year (2016) I chose the word Stay as my word of the year. At the time, it felt homey and warm. I was struggling with deciding to continue moving forward with the (still) pending adoption for Chica Marie and we were hosting Esperanza and trying to envelope her into the folds of our family. Stay felt comforting, it felt welcoming. Now, as 2016 is nearing an end, Stay feels constrictive. It feels stagnant and stifling. I guess I’m ready for a new word.

 

This year I want a strong word. I want something that has some teeth to it, something with power that will last the entire year. As the year anniversary of Primero’s adoption passed, I thought about how certain I felt 2016 would be the year of my second adoption. Sadly, with TPR only scheduled for this month, adoption for the little one’s really isn’t much closer than it was a year ago. I think this stagnation in their case is what has turned my word Stay sour. I don’t want to stay stuck forever in this foster care limbo. I want to be able to find a conclusion and grow together as a family. I’ve come up with a list of possible Words of the Year and have them listed below. I’m seeking some sort of epiphany into which word to choose. Focus was the first word that came to me but Thrive and Exceptional are starting to win me over. I’ll be mulling over these words for the next few weeks as I ponder the end to 2016 and what hope lies ahead in 2017.

 

GRACE - the free and unmerited favor of God, simple elegance or refinement of movement

FOCUS - the state or quality of having or producing clear visual definition, pay particular attention to

INTENTIONAL - done on purpose; deliberate

FULL - not lacking or omitting anything; complete

TRUST - firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone or something

CONTENT - in a state of peaceful happiness, a state of satisfaction

THRIVE - grow or develop well or vigorously, prosper; flourish

DILIGENT - having or showing care and conscientiousness in one's work or duties

POSITIVE - with no possibility of doubt; clear and definite, a good, affirmative, or constructive quality or attribute

ABUNDANCE - a very large quantity of something

ACCOMPLISH - achieve or complete successfully

BLOSSOM - a peak period or stage of development

CONSISTENT - unchanging in achievement or effect over a period of time, compatible or in agreement with something

DETERMINATION - firmness of purpose; resoluteness

EXCEPTIONAL - unusually good; outstanding, unusual; not typical

DISCERNING - having or showing good judgment

WORTHY - deserving effort, attention, or respect

Alone

Last Thursday I took Primero and the kids to visit Esperanza in the hospital. She was suffering from a burst ovarian cyst and being monitored for any complications. Primero insisted on visiting her, following an emotional morning phone call from his mom. While I knew Esperanza was going to be fine, Primero and his mom seemed be believe she was in dire condition. Primero wanted to walk there after school but I didn’t want him crossing so many busy roads at rush hour with it getting dark so early. I told him to wait until I got home and I would take him over. I thought I could just wait in the lobby area with the little ones while Primero visited with his sister to see she was going to be ok and then we could go back home. It wasn’t long after Primero disappeared that his mother came out and waved us to follow her into Esperanza’s room.

 

Things were going well, or as well as could be expected with two rambunctious children in a hospital room. We had been there for 30 minutes or so when Primero’s mom grabbed her phone and left the room. I assumed she was taking a smoke break until a few minutes later when Primero looked at his phone and then left the room. Before his mother left, Primero had mentioned their aunt who had been with their uncle who passed away, planned on visiting with Esperanza. The aunt showed up not long after Primero and his mom left the room. She stayed and chatted for a bit before needing to return to her shift in the ER. She is expecting a baby in April and, after two girls, she is having a boy. Primero is distraught, accusing her of replacing him (she had helped to raise Primero when he was small). The kids were growing more antsy and rowdy by the minute and Esperanza was dozing off from her meds. I text Primero that it was time for us to go. He came back into the room to ask me if we could take his mom home to her place to get some things and bring her back to the hospital. Sighing, I agreed. Primero left the room and didn’t come back, so I decided to get the kids ready and take our leave so we could find him and go.

 

We found Primero, his mom and aunt in the guest lobby at the end of the hall. His mom was sobbing and recounting to the aunt all she had given up to move back to town a few weeks ago. She lamented the death of her boyfriend and relayed how it hurt her when her brother told her she shouldn’t be mourning him because they weren’t together that long. Eventually, she stopped crying and we were able to leave. We had a long walk back to the van with two tired kids. We drove Primero’s mom across town to her place. She had found a ride back to the hospital, so we didn’t have to take her back. We dropped her off and Primero asked to drive home. I was grateful because the drama of the evening had drained me. I expressed that to Primero, how it is hard for me to be around his mom because I have never spent time with her and not have had some form of blow-out or melodramatics derail the visit. I also explained that my natural reaction to someone in the throes of drama is to go nearly catatonic. I withdraw, hoping my absence of drama will somehow balance the over-dramatic and we can once again reach an equilibrium. Sadly, it just doesn’t work that way and for Primero’s mom, it makes me seem stand-offish.

 

I am struggling with what to do about Christmas. I mentioned a portion of what happened at Thanksgiving here, but other things happened that I feel make it hard for me to visit, especially with the little ones. Primero mentioned not being in the Christmas spirit this year when we were at the laundromat last night (our “new” dryer broke over the weekend). I have been putting off the discussion I know I need to have with him because I don’t want to fight, but I am contemplating not going to his uncle’s place (assuming we will be invited). I just can’t have the little ones around some of the things that transpired there, not just because I don’t agree with it but because they are in foster care and I have to report these things. I haven’t heard anything back from my case worker after telling her what happened over Thanksgiving, but I wouldn’t be surprised to hear they don’t want the kids to visit. I’ve been reading (for months now because I don’t get much free time to read) Lori Holden’s book “The Open-Hearted Way to Open Adoption” in hopes of finding my way in this tangled path, but I’m still confused. I promised Primero to be open, I promised him I would treat his family as my own. But, in all honesty, if this were my family I think I would be more harsh and less-forgiving. The decision to not come around would be very easy to make. I’ve thought about reaching out to Primero’s old case worker because I know he still talks to her and she seems to understand him. But, I don’t want to impose on her time, she is no longer our case worker and she has her own life. I tried posting on an adoption website, thinking people would “get it” but mostly I was berated for contemplating going back to a situation that had the potential for problems for the little ones and Primero alike. It was suggested I find a neutral place to visit, like a bowling alley or pizza place. That isn’t realistic on Christmas day for one, but it would also limit the people Primero would be able to see, since not everyone who goes to his uncle’s would be willing to meet us out somewhere. Besides, there is really no way for me to even float this as an idea because his uncle doesn’t have direct contact with me, despite my efforts. I don’t know what to do. Do I keep visiting and hope for a better outcome? That sounds an awful lot like insanity. Do I stop visiting and try my best to deal with the painful fall-out and potentially losing Primero? I feel like I’m at a cross-roads and yet I don’t like either path that lies before me. I’m always one who seems middle ground a place of compromise. But, I can’t get there by myself and I feel hopeless in trying to have an adult conversation with Primero’s uncle because he shuns me and shuts me out. Mostly, I feel alone. No one understands me, no one understands our situation. And no one can help me through this.

Hoarding

A few weeks ago I wrote Primero and I were cleaning out our basement storage area. When not reminiscing about his own tumultuous past and lack of childhood mementos, Primero was complaining about my hoarding tendencies (I’m not a hoarder, let’s be clear on that! I do keep potentially useful things, but who doesn’t?). He wanted to throw out all the baby paraphernalia I had stashed in the basement because, as he put it, it’s not like we’re getting another baby. I mostly ignored his request and found places to squirrel away the items, but internally I questioned myself. Why am I holding on to outgrown car seats, swings and baby baths? Similarly, why do I have a hardy stash of children’s clothing, for both genders, ages newborn to 5T tucked under my bed? Am I simply hoarding child items because of the memories attached to them or do I hope to use them again in the future? I guess I had envisioned myself continuing to foster children, even after the three I have now are adopted. I suppose that is a pipe dream, since the house is so small and therefore I can only be licensed for three kids. I guess part of it stems from my feelings that my family is unfinished, although I don’t know why I feel that way. Maybe because I don’t have a partner? So, I tuck away the things I might need if I ever get another foster care placement, with no real game-plan in sight. I’m sure, at some point, I will get to a place emotionally where I can part with these unneeded things, but for the time being they are stored in my basement.

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

One Year Adopted

Today marks one year since Primero was adopted. This past year has really tested us and I’m sure the coming year will hold its own handful of problems. I want to remember this day as a happy day but I think I’ve seen too much in adoption to really wax poetical. I love my son and I am blessed to have him in my life. I just sense from him he would rather not mark the occasion, so I temper my joy to an internal celebration. Here is a look back at this special day a year ago.

Best Companies for Infertiles

I found this article while bouncing around on LinkedIn today. It was interesting, so I shared. I can relate to the have's and the have not's in regards to what insurance will cover for infertility treatments. I work for the state, a good job with good benefits. Unless you count infertility treatment as a benefit, then I get zilch. Too bad I didn't know about these other places....

Belated Thanksgiving

I finally got around to posting what I wrote about our Thanksgiving.


We survived Thanksgiving. Not without incident, but at least Primero and I didn't fight. We had dinner at my aunt and uncle's place first. There were less people there this year than in the past. My sister was notably missing because she decided to celebrate Thanksgiving with her husband in their new house. My aunt and maternal grandparents were also absent. My mom wasn't feeling good, so my parents didn't stay too long. My cousin, who sometimes babysits, ate and left to spend time with her boyfriend’s family. And so, it was rather quiet. Still, the food was good and Primero actually sat and talked to me, instead of staying hidden in his phone. He was still on his phone, announcing what was happening at his uncle's place.



As was pre-planned, we stayed at my aunt and uncles place until 6:30 and then left for his uncle's place, arriving just before 7. When we got there and Primero opened his door, he groaned, "Uh-oh, I hope that's not coming from my uncle's place." Someone had just stormed out of the house, swearing. His mom was soon to follow and we all walked past her, oblivious to what was happening inside the house. We had barely walked inside when I could hear shouting, cursing, and threats. It was apparent something had happened and everyone was very agitated. I stood awkwardly near the front door, imploring the little ones to keep their jackets on as I was worried the altercation would escalate into chaos and we would need to quickly leave. After a few minutes of shouting, of Primero being directed to take his mom upstairs and talk to her, I heard his uncle yell, "Get the f$@# out of my house!" Some brief scuffling ensued before things seemed to calm down. Primero followed his mom downstairs and his aunt, who had been outside crying, came back inside. The tension slowly began to dissipate and I felt comfortable enough to take the kids jackets off. I found out later that Primero's grandfather had, rudely, said to his aunt, "You aren't dead yet?" This rude comment was made to a woman who survived two heart attacks and has a permanent raspy voice due to a tracheotomy. The ensuing fall-out nearly ended the Thanksgiving celebration, but luckily things calmed down once the grandfather was ejected from the house and soon the party was back in full swing.



There was a striking difference between my aunt and uncle’s place and Primero’s aunt and uncles place, most noticeable in the noise level. I was surprised the kids held up as well as they did, with only minor break-downs due to being up much later than usual. I found that dividing our time equally helped to keep our unmet expectations from starting a fight. The only hiccup I felt we incurred was when Primero asked to spend the night at his other uncle’s place. He did this same thing the last time we were at a family function and it grates on me because a) I hate the last-minute planning thing and b) it’s frustrating to make plans and then have them re-routed because a better offer came along. Still, the holiday goes down in history as the first one we didn’t have a quarrel and for that I am grateful.

He Adores You

Last Friday I got a phone call from Primero’s new IEP teacher. He had recently asked her to be his IEP teacher, since his previous one became his math teacher this year. I expressed approval because I know he likes this teacher and if he likes a teacher there is a greater chance he will ask for help when he needs it and not just give up and fail, as has been his M.O. in the past. So, the teacher calls me to set up a time to meet this week to discuss and renew his IEP. During the course of our conversation she said, “It is evident how much he adores you.” I don’t actually remember what we were discussing when she said this because my mind went off into a thousand different directions. I wonder what he says about me in school that makes this so evident to someone who has never met me? Or was she just trying to compliment me, to make me feel good about the shortcomings of Primero’s early education? And while I know Primero is fond of me and loves me, I don’t know that I would use the word “adore” to describe our relationship. But, sure random teacher who I will meet later this week, let’s go with adore.

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

Doubting and What If

I had written an account of our Thanksgiving meals and I will probably still post that, but there has been something else bouncing around in my brain that I need to get out. My mom and I have been on the outs since the incident in September. We really haven’t spoken to one another, which made Thanksgiving awkward because my mom basically refused to talk to me, or even look at me for that matter. On Saturday, my aunt (my mom’s best friend) shared something I had posted on my Facebook the previous year, expressing my thankfulness for my family, including my parents. She captioned it by stating she hoped it was ok she shared it, but she felt it was a good time to do so. I replied that I didn’t mind she was sharing it (she was mentioned, after all) and that the sentiments are the same now as they were last year, to which my mom tagged me and replied, “Really???”  I read it and immediately text my sister telling her “Mom is starting shit on Facebook.” I then tagged her back and said, “Yes, really.” But, I knew, if there was any hope for peace on Earth, I would need to call her.

 

So, I stewed for a bit, then swallowed my pride and called her once the little ones were down for their naps. The conversation lasted over 90 minutes and went from terse comments to downright shouting and ended with mundane family conversation and maybe a truce. I think, some of it was my mom wanted to be heard and some of it is the same shit I will always hear from her. At one point, when I brought up my kids and she said, “Oh my god!” in a rather offensive way and then went on to explain how she thinks I’m crazy for being a foster parent, for agreeing to adopt such “difficult” children but if I’m happy then it doesn’t matter what she thinks, I just knew she was never, not ever, going to accept my children as her grandchildren. At least not in the way she would accept a biological child. Two things really stick out at me. The first one was what she didn’t say. She made some comment about biological children and I cried, “That’s great but not something I can do!” I sensed her come-back and she started the sentence, but then stopped herself. Still, I heard what she was going to say. She was going to say how it wasn’t the right guy and that I gave up too soon. She did say something about needing a husband to make that happen. I know she thinks I didn’t explore enough medical options when it came to getting pregnant, but my insurance did not (and still does not) cover a lick of infertility treatments, barring some diagnostic testing that could be labeled as general feminine problems. Without insurance coverage there was no way we could afford the $9,000 + one shot at IVF. Plus, it was evident that the infertility treatments had a very negative affect on my emotional well-being. I was probably clinically depressed in those dark days when infertility eclipsed everything else in my entire life. And, let’s face it, there are no guarantees in infertility. So, despite the doctor’s instance that we were good candidates for IVF because we were young and healthy, we could have saved and scraped together 10 grand and still be left childless.

 

On the tail of the words unspoken came an accusation; my mother does not understand why I have three children. In her “what you’re doing is great, but we think you’re stark-raving mad for doing it” spiel she said, more than once, “I don’t know why one wasn’t enough.” As if children are Lays potato chips and I simply couldn’t eat just one, like a glutton I took on three. I didn’t answer her, I did take her bate on the number of children debate. Because I didn’t tell her, again, the story of how the children all ended up with me, she went on to wish I lived more like my single, child-less friends trotting around the world on glorious vacations. Which, ironically, she chides my sister for doing instead of birthing children. Still, the why three question makes me believe my mom, who is herself a mother of three, thinks I can’t handle it or that I’m not grateful for the one child who is mine.     

 

Mostly, these two points of a very long and difficult conversation, prick the very sore spots I try to soothe for myself. Did I not try long enough or explore enough options with infertility? What if we had had the money, would we have a child together? Would we still be together? Am I taking on too much with three kids? Am I being selfish and discontent by adopting more children than just Primero? These what if questions serve little purpose, yet they have been plaguing me with doubt just as a once-healed wound smarts when the scab is torn off. It is especially hurtful to hear someone else doubting your same doubts.

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

Before my current job, I worked as an admissions counselor in a drug and alcohol rehab for 3 ½ years. I hated the job for a lot of reasons only one of them because I had to hear horrible, heart-breaking stories about people and their loved ones dealing with addiction. It was very hard for me to not take home the residual stress from hearing and documenting these stories day after day, never mind the times we had to call the police because the person on the other end of the phone was about to end their life. I heard a lot of ugly things people did because they were under the influence of drugs or because they needed to get a fix so bad they would do literally anything. And, I didn’t just hear the stories over the phone, I met the individuals when they came into the facility on the worst day of their lives; the day they entered rehab. Some new patients came in so high or so hung-over they could not complete the necessary paperwork for admission. A few people were experiencing the DT’s so bad they had to be sent to the local hospital because their state was more emergent than our small medical staff could handle. I wish I could remember as many success stories as I can the terrible ones, but working in admissions we saw more of the pain and less of the recovery.





While I did go through the drinking phase in college, I never participated in any other indulgences as a teen or young adult. My first experience with people around me smoking pot was when I was in the Peace Corps in Nicaragua. I was invited to a birthday party for a volunteer I didn’t really know but a bunch of my friends were going and so I decided to tag along. We were having a good time, dancing, playing music, having a few drinks, when someone arrived with marijuana. I thought I could just ignore it, keep dancing and everything would be fine, but it soon became apparent that I was going to be the only one not imbibing. So, I left. I walked back to the volunteer’s place (thankfully, the party was being held at her friend’s house). I got myself ready for bed and climbed into the large bed I would be sharing with 2 other women. When the rest of the gang got back, they were high and acting juvenile. They all climbed into the bed with me but wouldn’t settle down and sleep, so it made for a very long and unpleasant night.





You can call me a prude or too conservative, or whatever but I am not a proponent of cannabis. I am also not a fan of drinking copious amounts of alcohol or illicit drug use either. I have seen the destruction of these vices and don’t want to share those similar fates. And I certainly don’t want to be around people using, smoking, drinking to intoxication. I ran into two incidents over the holiday where drug use was happening and I had the little ones with me. The first incident I didn’t know about until afterwards. The second we walked in on, sort of uninvited. I felt uncomfortable and I didn’t want the little ones to be there, but had to complete a task and try not to make a big deal out of it because it’s “just pot.” I find this is a hard thing to navigate – I don’t choose to participate and don’t want to be around it, yet it is thrust upon me due to things outside of my control. And, I don’t live in a state where recreational use is legal, so there’s that added pressure to not be around it for me. As much as it bothered me to walk into a house full of stinky pot smoke, it bothered me even more to know it was happening right under my nose without me knowing about it. Knowing it half the battle, it allows me to make the choice to stay or go. I hate knowing the little children were exposed to this at such a young age and I hope they won’t remember the occasion.    


Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

"Just" Adopting is Hard

The permanency hearing this morning went better than I had thought it would. There was an awkward moment, while waiting to go into the court room, when mom’s attorney was ranting about CYS. I didn’t hear how the conversation started, but I did hear him mention about a bonding evaluation that would show the children, who haven’t been allowed to visit with their mother, have bonded to their foster parent, “of course.” I cannot tell you how derogatory he sounded, how it seemed like the very word “foster parent” left a foul taste on his tongue. He went on to describe a case he argued in the state Supreme Court about the rights of a father who was incarcerated and not permitted early release due to the words of one parole officer who felt this man was gaming the system. His tirade was cut short by the county case worker announcing we could go into the court room. It’s clear to see that he is all one-sided for paternal rights, which I suppose makes sense since that is his job, to make sure the parents who are his clients get a fair deal. As a foster parent, I just don’t have the luxury of being one-sided and have to see this case and all cases from multiple sides, so I can be engaged in the action and try to stay empathetic towards the parents, who don’t have it easy and make the everyday decisions for what I believe is best for the children. I have to see both sides of the coin, no matter how painful or difficult it might be.

 

Once we were inside the court room things moved fairly quickly. There was a lot of discussion about Mini Momma and how she needs help to understand what is happening because she asked the magistrate when she can see her mom again. The magistrate declared she wouldn’t entertain the idea of visitation simply because there was a date set for TPR, which she wasn’t aware of initially. She said there would be no point for her to make a ruling, only to have it all rehashed at the TPR hearing next month. The mom’s attorney asked about keeping sibling contact, but he asked it in a way that made it sound like Chica Marie and Love Bug would be adopted and Mini Momma would not. This lead the county case worker to believe mom might voluntarily sign-off on TPR for the little ones, but I’m not so sure. There was talk about how Grandma has been pushing for the younger siblings to see and meet their older siblings and how she has managed to make that happen for all but one older sibling. A new permanency hearing was set for the end of April, pending whatever happens in December.

 

After the hearing I spoke with the county case worker about my concerns regarding an older sibling. She seemed to indicate what I had heard from a previous case worker was not correct and there would be no harm in the little ones spending time with their older siblings. I expressed how I am not opposed to those visits and contact but I felt like Grandma went behind my back when she had the kids a few weekends ago because she made no mention to me about her plans, just sent me a picture via text. I would like to know who the children will be exposed to and I too would like to meet their older siblings. I could facilitate visits with the older siblings, if they so choose, once I am able to meet them. But, if Grandma always acts as middle man, that limits the exposure the little ones would have to only when they are visiting Grandma. I think my actions speak for themselves when it comes to sibling visits. I pursued visits with Mini Momma, following her from foster home to foster home, making sure the little ones could still see her. She has spent more than a few weekends at our place and the door is always open for her to be in contact with her younger brother and sister. I can point to many, many examples of visits with Primero and his siblings, including making sure his older brother Hermano got to spend time with his family during holidays when he was in foster care. I mean, my two main baby-sitters are Primero’s oldest brother's girlfriend and his cousin. We spend holidays with Primero’s family, we’ve driven to see his mom, to attend his brother’s baby shower. I literally can do nothing more to prove I support family, especially sibling, involvement. I just think there is a proper way to do it that doesn’t create hard feelings or make it seem duplicitous.

 

So, it seems like the TPR hearing might actually happen next month. The county case worker told me she has over 90 pages of information for the hearing. I’m thankful we do not have to attend that court hearing, especially after the county case worker told me this would go all the way back to the beginning. I’m fairly certain I would sit and sob if I had to be there listening to every little thing that has happened right before and since placement. It is sort of a shitty time for TPR to be happening, just before Christmas, not that there is ever a good time to permanently lose custody of your children. As I knew she would, mom asked me where the kids were when she saw me. I had some pictures I printed out and gave to her, including the school picture for Chica Marie and a drawing she had colored. It certainly doesn’t take the place of seeing her children and I know that and I feel bad for her. Her lawyer brought up Act 101 during the session and I’m sort of surprised it wasn’t mentioned to me previously. My inclination is to do things as naturally as possible and I just don’t like the idea of someone telling me what I must do with the children. Act 101 is a legally enforceable visitation agreement entered into by adoptive parents and biological family. I would rather we agree to be in touch, exchange information and visit as we are able and see fit, so long as mom stays in a healthy place. I don’t really want a set-in-stone agreement stating we MUST see her x amount of times per month or year or whatever. Grandma and I are already in contact and arranging visits as our schedules allow. I don’t feel like we need some legal document telling us to keep doing what we are already doing. I would welcome the little one’s mom to get in touch with me so we could talk about visitations.

 

I’ve been feeling sort of down about adoption lately. I think I have finally come to a place where I am ready to face my own misconceived notions about adoption. I have known, from a young age, that I wanted to adopt. I remember having a conversation with my mom about my aunt who was never able to have children. I remember asking my mom why my aunt and uncle didn’t “just adopt.” I declared, right then and there, if I were ever unable to have children (because, that so wasn’t going to happen to me) I would adopt. When my mom met the woman who is now my nurse midwife, they had a conversation about my willingness to adopt. My mom’s friend, who adopted her daughter from China, gave her a book to give to me; “The Waiting Child” by Cindy Champnella. As a young adult remembering my declaration, this book solidified my decision to adopt. I just assumed things would go as I had planned. I would get married, have 3 children and then when my kids were on the verge of leaving the nest, I would adopt a younger child or two. It seemed so perfect. It’s just not how it happened. Now, nearly a year after my first son was adopted, I have really come to understand the intricacies of “just” adopting. And, while I know it is the right decision for me and I would do it all over again if I had to, it isn’t easy. Sharing your child with people you don’t know is hard. Learning to accept people you don’t always respect is hard. Knowing you family is complicated because there are so many different people with different opinions is hard. Learning to let go of the ideals you had for your family, learning to let go of the moral code you had hoped to instill in your children, is hard. Being ok with raising a child who doesn’t acknowledge your influence in his life and seems eager to be done with you, is hard. Feeling like you might never have sovereign control over your children is hard. Sharing holidays, accepting new traditions and life styles is hard. Witnessing the pain of a child betrayed by family and seeing the heartache of family not raising their biological kin is hard. Explaining to a child seeing their mother is not a good idea is hard. Hearing stories of a tumultuous and difficult past is hard. Staying positive about someone who has made some very poor choices and cannot seem to take responsibility for them is hard. Always being a bigger person, willing to forgive and move forward is hard. Nothing, nothing at all about adoption is easy except for loving a child. I never doubted I would be able to love a child not biologically connected to me. But, love is not enough. And that is hard.   

Thanksgiving Dread

Tomorrow morning is court and  I am fearful for a lot of reasons. I am fearful of having to answer the little one’s mom’s and grandmother’s questions of why they are not there. I fear the potentially aggressive proceedings in court, with both sides defending their position passionately. I am fearful of the outcome and potential ramifications it might have on the case and, more concerning, on the children. Mostly, I just want it to be over, so we can move forward, but I feel fairly certain this case will drag on for quite some time.

 

Thursday is Thanksgiving and I am also dreading this day. Since I’ve become a grown-up, Thanksgiving has become my favorite holiday, eclipsing Christmas. I mean, who doesn’t love a holiday all about food? And expressing thanks for the blessings in our lives? Besides providing a few cans of green beans, I have no other obligation, no presents to buy or cards to write. So, yeah, Thanksgiving has hedged out Christmas for my favorite holiday. But, as much as I love the holiday season, I’ve come to dread it due to the emotional pitfalls that seem to lurk around these special days. This will be the third holiday season with Primero and the little ones, which makes the third time I have to dance the intricate steps of open adoption. This year I am just not feeling as emotionally ready for what is to come. As much as I would like to be the kind of person who can get over grievances with a flip of my hair and a good glass of wine, I’m just not that person. I still hurt from what happened the last time we got together with Primero’s uncle. The fact that he thinks I should just act like everything is the same, after such a betrayal, infuriates me. He made zero effort to man up and talk to me like an adult. When “we” did talk it was actually with his wife. The whole thing has left a very bad taste in my mouth and my respect level for Primero’s uncle has dropped dramatically. I really don’t want to go to his house this Thursday. Like, not even a little bit. But, Primero told me last night that all of his siblings have been confirmed to be attending and that never happens. At first Primero told me their event started at 7, which would work out because I already accepted an invitation to my aunt and uncle’s for 4. But, after speaking with his uncle yesterday, Primero told me their event is starting at 4:30. So, this complicates things. I don’t want to be separated for Thanksgiving. I mean, I’m sure next year Primero will stop attending family functions with us because he will be 18 and, as he believes, can do whatever he wants. I wish I were wealthy and could just whisk the four of us away to some quiet tropical island for Thanksgiving. Did I mention Primero’s mother will be at the gathering? Just to add another layer of uncomfortable. The last time we spent time with her, there was an eruption of unwarranted emotions that derailed the visit and made me question having the little ones around when visits do happen. Yeah, I’m not looking forward to Thursday at all……

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

Until Our Fate is Decided

I feel resigned to a fate I cannot control and am hopeless to change. I had to take the little ones in for court this morning. Well, not court, just for them to see their GAL (guardian ad litem) and the magistrate. I have been appealing to the professionals who work with the children, to write letters of recommendation that visits not be reinstated, but thus far I’m coming up empty-handed. It seems the professionals are being advised to not get involved, regardless of their professional opinion on the matter. One problem is that these professionals have not personally witnessed the reactions and regressions that occurred following visits. It seems we will have to do a bonding evaluation, which I believe is basically a mental health professional observing me alone with the kids and then their mother alone with the kids. It seems unfair, since Love Bug does not know her and will respond with trepidation, as he does will most strangers. Chica Marie might respond more positively, but then again, who knows with her.

 

While the county is opposed to reinstating visits, the burden of proof is upon them to argue why visits should (still) not occur. Their mother’s attorney does not have to argue why, after nearly 18 months, the visits should be reinstated. Because she still retains her parental rights, she still has the right to visits. And, as we all know, the parents’ rights always trump the rights of children. Her rights are supposed to be terminated in December, but the TPR meeting has moved to many times I have little faith it will actually occur. Even if it does occur, as the county case worker reminded me this morning, that doesn’t mean it’s over. There is an appeal process, which I’m sure their mom will take, and all of this takes time. As in months of time. While the children hang in limbo.

 

I am opposed to the courts reinstating visits, but I am not opposed to having visits. What I mean by that is, I feel like, if visits could occur like the one we had with Primero’s mother they might not be so hard on the kids. We picked her up and went the mall, had dinner and took her back home. We spent nearly the whole day together and it was (for the most part) a nice time. I could be wrong, but I feel if visits could happen the same way with the little one’s mom, maybe it wouldn’t be so traumatic for them. Chica Marie wants to see her mom, she has expressed that to me on more than one occasion. Yet, she has a lot of big feelings after those visits and those big feelings result in negative behaviors. I think too often the county and the law is all or nothing. I wish we could find a compromise that doesn’t jeopardize the positive momentum the children have made.

 

While we are talking about the law, how about The Adoption and Safe Families Act of 1997? You know, the one that “Requires that States move to terminate parental rights for children who have been in Foster Care for 15 out of the last 22 months” that law? Has the county not provided sufficient and ample opportunities for reunification? Is there a compelling reason TPR is not in the best interest of the children? I don’t know, I don’t have all the details. I’m just frustrated and wish I could do something to resolve this whole mess, but I can’t. I don’t have a say, I don’t have a voice. I still have to attend the permanency hearing next week and sit quietly as our fate is decided.

In the Feels

Tonight will be our annual home evaluation for foster care. I frantically cleaned the house yesterday but didn’t get it as clean as I would have liked. Primero and I spent a great deal of time cleaning out the basement. It felt good to get rid of the things cluttering the space and reorganize it to be able to reach the things I need more consistently. We talked while we worked and Primero told me stories of when he was naughty as a child. At one point he exclaimed, exasperated at my inability to let go of an artifact from my childhood, “Ugh! You have a lot of special things from the past!” He then muttered that he had none. I remembered him showing me a box of little things he had saved from his life before foster care. I knew each item held special importance to him. I know he still has that box tucked away safely. It is the only thing he has from his childhood; no toys, no special t-shirt, just a box of slips of papers, small pictures, drawings and little nick-knack’s. I could see why my ceramic Dumbo lamp that my mom made for me and had in my nursery would upset him.

 

On our way to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription for Chica Marie she declared out-of-the-blue she wanted to go home and have a mayonnaise sandwich. Primero mentioned having to eat mayo sandwiches at times because they had nothing else to eat in his house. It seems the day was full of memories for him. After our second trip to Goodwill to drop off bags of donations, we treated ourselves to dinner at McDonalds. While there, Primero told me about something that happened to him in the past that just made my heart hurt for him, for the little boy he was never able to be. Primero does such a good job of hiding the past pain he has suffered, he doesn’t often let his mask slip to reveal the hurting inside of him. When he wants to let it out, I try to just listen. There isn’t anything I can say to undo the pain, nothing I can do to take it all away and reminding him his present is without those hurts is obtuse and without solace. So, I listen and say how sorry I am to know those things happened to him. He used to share a lot, when he first moved in, but the stories have slowed over the years. I’m glad he no longer has to eat mayonnaise sandwiches and I hope he will always feel like he can share with me when he needs to, when he feels those memories.

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

Reinstating Visits

Yesterday I left work early because the headache I woke up with could not be controlled with Aleve. I slept most of the afternoon and woke-up with my headache dulled but not gone. I took one more Aleve and that did the trick. My stomach has been off since Sunday night. I haven’t been sick, but I have been feeling nauseous and like I’m about to be sick at any moment. I have an aversion to food but I don’t find it makes me feel any worse when I do eat. I know a very strong stomach virus has been making the rounds and I’m hoping this isn’t how it starts.

 

Before I left work yesterday I received an email from the county case worker in response to the one I sent her the previous day. I had asked several questions, which she half-answered promising more detailed answers coming soon. Then, she sent a second email asking for me to get letters from the professionals who see the kids and feel reinstating visits with their mother would not be in their best interest. Apparently, their mother’s attorney is planning on insisting visits be reinstated since their mom has been doing so much better. I questioned how this could be possible, since TPR has been scheduled for December 16^th and our CHOR case worker questioned why it would be entertained considering TPR was supposed to happen in June. We are hoping this is just CYS doing a cya, but it is frightening to me that the court would even consider this idea. It’s not that I wouldn’t want the children to see their mom, especially considering she is healthy right now, I’m just worried about how it might affect Chica Marie’s behaviors in school and impact her education. And, for Love Bug, he would need to ease into it in a way I highly doubt would be carried out. In order for him to be ok with the visits, he would need to do a few with me there for the whole time and then slowly wean him down to me not being there. To drop him off and have his mom hugging him and kissing him and trying to hold him, well he would be totally freaked out. And I feel really bad saying that, but he just doesn’t know her. To him, I am mommy. He still has a pretty high intolerance to strangers, especially ones who try to do more than talk to him. He takes a little while to warm up to people, as most toddlers do. The concerns for Chica Marie are even more pressing, I believe. While she would be happy to meet and spend time with her mom, the last time she did (and it was a good meeting!) her behaviors took a nose-dive and we were dealing with several weeks of regression because of it. When she was in daycare, it was manageable and not as detrimental as it could be now that she is in school. She is finally starting to stabilize and get into the groove with kindergarten, I would hate to see her regress and possibly miss out on some learning or worse, be moved into an emotional support classroom.

 

So, after sending an email questioning how this could be happening, I called and spoke with our CHOR case worker and Chica Marie’s mobile therapist. Last night I asked Love Bugs OT to write a letter, which she readily agreed to do. I called Chica Marie’s psychiatrist and her mobile therapist agreed to follow up with him as well. Her TSS worker will write about her behaviors at school and I asked the daycare to write what they could remember about her regression the last time she saw her mother.

 

I just don’t understand how this could be possible. I don’t understand anything about this case. After nearly 18 months of not seeing their mother, it seems unfathomable that the court would insist on bi-weekly visitation when TPR and adoption are just around the corner. And, it’s not just that I don’t want the children to see their mother, I just want the children to be stable and healthy and be able to emotionally process the big feelings that might come with seeing their mother. I don’t want to see them be forced into bi-weekly visits if they aren’t able to handle it. And, I certainly don’t want Chica Marie to have any stumbling blocks in front of her when it comes to improving her behaviors in school. I’m very nervous about court now.

 

The ironic thing is, Chica Marie and Love Bug will be going into CYS a week earlier to meet with the GAL so they don’t have to be there the day of court and risk seeing their mother, as they did in the summer. It was brought up during a meeting with the school and the county case worker mentioned the children could be seen ahead of time, rather than during court. How is that not evidence enough that reinstating visits isn’t a good idea?

 

This morning the county worker sent me an email about a bonding observation test. I’m not sure when she is hoping to have this performed or what exactly it will entail, but I’m sure it will have something to do with the plea for visits to resume. I can’t wait for all this insanity to die down again.

The Intrusion of Others

I’m struggling with open adoption again. It is such a hard thing! I feel like I have no control over parenting, my hands are stayed by biological connections perceived as stronger than my daily caretaking role. This feeling of melancholy stems not only from feeling like I lack parental control, but also my only family issues revolving around my grandfather’s impending passing and my mother’s damaging self-victimization. I feel a mess; just a total jumbled mess of confliction, self-pity, and confusion on which way to turn, what decision to make. I’m trying to pin down my unrest, untangle the intricate parts in hopes of allaying fears and moving forward.

 

Saturday I had a mostly child-free day. The little one’s grandmother came to pick them up before 9:30 in the morning. I was just finishing Chica Marie’s hair when they arrived. After a brief visit and wrestling the car seats into the back of Grandma’s car, the children were gone and I was on my way to the lab. For work we have to do a Get Healthy routine lab work in order to get a fairly significant discount on what we pay for our health insurance. So, every year I begrudgingly head to the lab for some unnecessary poking and prodding because I can use every penny I earn. Fortunately, the lab was not busy and I was in and out before the actual time of my 10 am appointment. Even though we don’t have to, I fast for the lab work, so  I was hungry. I had planned on going to breakfast with Primero, but he didn’t get out of bed before I left and wasn’t answering my texts. I decided to forego breakfast out and went home to make some eggs and coffee. Then, I headed to the farm.

 

My father had contacted me on Friday, warning my grandfather’s health was failing and suggesting I try to see him as soon as I could. I figured it would easiest for me to go alone and so I drove the distance there after my breakfast at home. When I arrived at my grandparents place on the farm, there were an abnormal number of cars parked in front of their place. I thought everyone had come home to see my grandfather. Inside the house I encountered my aunt and uncle, my oldest cousin, a spiritual advisor and a nurse talking to my grandmother. When my grandfather was at the doctor last week, he finally convinced my grandmother to get hospice help for my grandfather to keep them both at home safely. My grandmother has been caring for my grandfather since he got sick and in his current frail state he really isn’t able to do anything for himself and she is growing weary. The commotion soon died down as one-by-one the other visitors left and I was finally alone with my grandparents.

 

My grandfather, who has always been thin yet surprisingly strong, was frail and weak, sitting propped up in a chair in their living room. His skin, once browned by the sun and wind from working outdoors, was ghostly white, barring the various spots of burgundy from bruises that dotted his paper-thin skin. His strong work-worn hands hung limply off the arms of the chair and his once piercing blue eyes, now sunken in and dulled to gray, held mere flashes of recognition. He was but a shell of the man he had been, the surgeries, cancer and other health ailments that have dogged him this last decade have sucked all the life from him. It hurt to see him looking so forlorn, to see him so fragile and frail. I sat and held his hand while my grandmother went to the barn to care for the animals. It took all I had to not sit and sob, the tears having escaped more than a few times while I hugged him and tried to tell him how much he meant to me, what a great and wonderful grandfather he has been my whole life.

 

After my grandmother returned from her duties at the barn, we sat and talked. Interspersed among our reminiscence of times past, my grandmother unloaded a lot about my mom. Some of it I knew about, some of it I found hard to believe, and some of it was just downright troubling to know my grandmother felt the way she did about my mom. The floodgates opened when I mentioned my mom and I weren’t really talking, since the incident in September. I didn’t respond to much of what my grandmother had said, I just listened. As my sister and a friend said, she has been going through a lot taking care of my grandfather and just needed to unload. Still, a few things were disturbing to me and I worry that my grandmother actually believes what she said. And, while demonizing my mother, she praised my aunt for being a “gem.” I view my aunt differently, but I don’t want to keep going with the character assassination and so I will just leave it at everyone has both good and bad qualities. I stayed with my grandparents until after 2 and then hustled to get back home.

 

Primero had slept until well after noon but was awake and ready to go by the time I got home. We ran a few errands before having to get back home to meet the kids by 4. Grandma had sent me a text with a picture – she had taken the kids to see some of their older siblings. I didn’t feel ok with this for a few reasons. One, I sent the kids to visit with their grandmother and older sister, Mini Momma. Grandma never mentioned to me they would be seeing their other older siblings or anyone else for that matter. I hated being left out of the loop like that. And, I worried about behavioral reactions from Chica Marie. I also worried about how the county would respond to such a visit when I tell them what occurred. I know at one point the county had requested the girls not see their older male siblings due to some worries I cannot speak about here. I don’t know if those worries are still valid so I emailed the county to find out. I also feel like with the grandmother running interference, it doesn’t give me the opportunity to help build a relationship with the older siblings for the little ones. I feel like Grandma has put herself smack dab in the middle and, while I’m sure she sees it as forging that relationship, it really hinders a more organic development. Am I wrong to think this might have been something Grandma could have mentioned before taking the kids for that visit? Because I do worry that it’s my own fear and fragility rearing its ugly head. I’ll be honest, when Grandma brought them back home and immediately asked for a sleep-over, stating she’s ready, my heart constricted thinking she was going to ask for custody of the littlest ones too. And, since I have little to no trust in “the system” making rational and sound decisions, I worry the biological connection would out-weigh my 2 plus years of care-taking and devotion. I’m not ready for a sleep-over, not just for all the reasons mentioned, but because I also worry about how much supervision there is for Chica Marie specifically. I know these two are not yet my children, but for the love! Love Bug has known no other mommy but me. Chica Marie has had a stable home with me for over 2 years. It’s really hard, after all that time of autonomy, to give it up and let the children be taken wherever someone else wishes. And I have no say in the matter.

 

Following in that vein, Primero spent the night at his uncles last night. My qualm here is more with what I feel is disrespect to my station as his parent than anything else. When things went down in September (apparently September was not a good month for me!) I tried to bridge the gap, asking for a sit-down meeting between myself and Primero’s aunt and uncle. A terse phone conversation, days after living on pins and needles thinking they were going to move Primero into their home, was the only conversation we had on the matter. And we have not really talked since then. A few weeks ago Primero was talking to his uncle and was asked why he hasn’t been over. Primero replied because we had never met and talked as planned and I wasn’t comfortable having Primero go over there until that happened. That still never spawned a conversation. And, because I was massively hurt by how things happened during that horrid time in September, I have slowly been giving up Primero. I felt I had no choice when he mentioned spending the night because to say no would cause damage, no matter how I felt I was treated, no matter how insignificant my position had been rendered. To me, they are saying Primero is allowed to treat me like a revolving door in favor of his more lenient aunt and uncle. After all, despite my lawful position as his parent, they are blood and therefore their decisions are allowed to outweigh mine. They can claim to be willing to take legal action to take custody, no matter what the courts have already decreed on the matter. I find it unforgiveable that his uncle let me live for days believing he would be coming over to take my son at any moment. I find it deplorable that my request for an adult meeting went unanswered and I am expected to carry on, business as usual. And yes, I worry about what promises they might make Primero while keeping their game face on in front of me. It’s sad to think this all could have been avoided if only his uncle had been willing to have a frank conversation with me. Now, I am left wondering where I stand and what other plans might be made behind my back?

 

I am growing weary of open adoption. I am tired of the intrusion of others on my life. I despise having my rules, my desires for how I wish to raise my children be trampled callously. I ache to be able to feel secure in my position as mother, yet worry at the tiniest unraveled thread that my whole world will come crashing down around me. I’m frustrated at the insistence that biology, not secure attachment, not giving and caring daily, but mere biology reigns supreme. Times like these I wish everyone would go away. I wish we could be left alone as our own nuclear family. I am weary. I am tired. I feel like giving up.

 

Sunday evening my mom text me, “Thanks for stopping up to see me yesterday!” adding fodder to my already blackened name on her long list of hurts, I didn’t visit with her when I had come for the sole purpose of seeing my ailing grandfather. Shame on me.