What's in a Name?

With Primero, I think I’m over the mother thing now. For so long I had hoped he would spontaneously call me “mom” as his adoption date approached. I was so crushed and beyond hurt when it became apparent that he not only would not call me “mom” but he was defensive and adamant about that never being my name from him. (Click here to get the whole story) The issue became so heated that Primero didn’t think he wanted to be adopted because of it. Other than saying “it’s too weird” he never has really explained why the term “mom” can’t apply to both his biological mom and to me. On the flip side and as an off note, Chica Marie has no problem calling everyone mom, go figure. After the excruciating pain from last year’s mom war, I buried the topic never to let it surface again. To Primero I’m my first name, nothing more.

 

Sadly, the issue does not go away so easily. It bubbles back to the surface from time to time bringing the blistering pain along with it. Just a few weekends ago Primero shared a story with me regarding an exchange he had with his cousin, who happens to have my same first name. According to Primero’s story, there was some confusion about which person he was talking about until his cousin finally asked him why he didn’t call me mom. She went on to say more, including some not-so-nice things about Primero’s mom and the conversation ended with Primero changing the subject and feeling poorly about the whole exchange. I’m not sure what he hoped to get out of sharing the story with me, but mostly I just held my breath and listened. That same week Primero was home when Love Bug’s speech therapist came to visit and he called me by my first name in front of her. She was shocked by this and proceeded to reprimand him for not calling me mom. Primero explained it was because he was adopted and she said, “So?” and I wanted to crawl in a hole and hide.

 

Sometimes Love Bug, in an attempt to emulate Primero, calls me by my first name – or, well an approximation of it, since his pronunciation on most words is sort of like listening to someone speak with marbles in their mouth. This upsets me and I refuse to answer him when he does it. But, wait! There’s more! Every single solitary time we have a fight Primero pulls out the “you’re-not-my-mom” card because he knows it hurts me. The last time he did it I flat out told him, “you can keep saying things like that to hurt me, but I’m telling you right now it’s lost its impact so you’re going to have to try harder.” To a certain extent it’s true. The gut-wrenching, searing pain that cut me to the quick and brought stinging tears to my eyes  has subsided. Instead, I’m left with a heavy, grinding, heart-crushing, chronic ache in its place. Rather than clutching my heart in pain, I feel the blow deep in my soul.

 

Last night Primero walked home from his after school program because he left early and didn’t call me to pick him up. There was some drama related to his sister and her friend showing up at the facility which lead to Primero mouthing off to the director and leaving. As if this were not upsetting enough in its own right, Primero included in his story about how the director (who called me last week about a different issue with Primero) said to him, “you’re mother isn’t going to like this” and Primero responded with, “Who? You mean Ashley? She’s my adoptive mother.” He prefaced this part of the story by saying, “And you really aren’t going to like this part.” He’s not wrong, I don’t like that part but I feel there’s no point in getting worked up about it. I am resigned to my fate. The mom train has left the station and I am still standing on the platform. But, rather than trying to run the tracks to catch up or fall to my knees howling in pain, I just stand and watch it chug away. Maybe it’s because Primero doesn’t really know what a true mom is like, maybe it’s because he was older when he was adopted, maybe he’s just stubborn, maybe he doesn’t know how to truly love someone, maybe the title “mom” is too loaded and painful for him, maybe he has his bio mom foisted on a pedestal that no one can touch – I really don’t know. But, I’m not playing the hurt game anymore. I’m not going to fall to pieces because I love him like a son and he loves me like a benevolent neighbor. I can hope and pray that my love will help him to heal, but I have to come to the realization that for Primero I won’t ever truly be his mom, he will always include a qualifier. He thinks it should be enough that the babies call me mom and so I guess I have to content myself with that.

So, what’s in a name? Didn’t Shakespeare presume a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet? But, Shakespeare was wrong. Names are important. If names didn’t mean anything, then why do expectant parents spend hours poring over baby books to find just the right one for their precious baby? If names didn’t matter, why are studies done to which names fare better in college and on job applications? If names didn’t matter, then why aren’t we all John and Jane? Because names do matter. What we are called is a part of who we are, whether is shapes our character or our character shapes the name, the influence is still there. So, why is it so unfathomable that the moniker “mom” has so much meaning tied to it? I was raised to believe calling your parents by their first name was a sign of disrespect. As hard as it is for Primero to over-come his up-bringing, it’s just as hard for me. Calling me by my name instead of mom seems to diminish and devalue our relationship. This, above all, is why it bothers me.

Planning Meeting

And this is what is wrong with our health care system. I called the doctor’s office this morning because the case worker had to take her to last week’s annual visit since it could not be rescheduled in a timely manner and she confused me in regards to a follow up appointment. I asked what they were following up on and she said the testing they had done in the office, which was urine testing and a finger stick for lead and iron levels. In my experience these results are immediate and unless there was an abnormality no follow up would be needed. So, I could not fathom why this follow up appointment might be needed. I figured the doctor’s office would know this information and so I called. The note from the case worker indicated I would be contacted for a follow up appointment in October, six months from now. But, wait a minute! When I called last month to change last week’s appointment I was told they book 6 months out. This morning I was told the schedule isn’t open for October. This month is April, right? What month is 6 months from now? Any wonder why I hate this doctor’s office? So, the rude scheduler mocked the case worker for not knowing what the follow up appointment was regarding and then said there were no notes in the file regarding why a follow up appointment was needed. I asked her if the nurse might know. I was put on hold twice but I was finally given an answer by the nurse. The doctor wanted a follow up appointment because there was a lot going on in this case. Um, what? And, this doctor who met this child for the first time last week, is going to what exactly about all the mentioned issues? Chica Marie has a mobile therapist, a CHOR case worker, a county case worker, a soon-to-be TSS worker, and a foster mother. What could the doctor possibly add to the group, since none of the pressing issues are of a medical nature (the urine testing came back negative, so the bed-wetting isn’t a medical issue and her lead levels are within a normal range now, so it’s no longer an issue). I’m not going to make a stupid follow up appointment and waste my time. Why on earth should I? To me, this is just a waste of the public’s money, since she is covered by public insurance. What sheer stupidity!

 

The planning meeting last night was long and, as I suspected, not terribly informative for me. The only surprise was the request of the little ones mom to join via telephone but she didn’t answer when the case worker tried to call her. The case worker was at our house until almost 8 pm. I had sent the kiddos to Primero’s room because of the potential for issues with the mom being on the phone. At the end of the meeting Primero brought Love Bug upstairs because he had a poopy diaper. Primero then announced to me that Esperanza wanted to come over to see the kids. I contemplated this while changing Love Bug and felt the sheer exhaustion of the day and the planning meeting wash over me. I didn’t feel like dealing with a visit after all of that. I said to Primero it wasn’t a good time and besides, Esperanza couldn’t expect to see the children and act like I didn’t exist. It simply doesn’t work like that. He was irritated and went outside because apparently they had already arrived. As I was walking the case worker to the door, Primero came back inside and said that Esperanza wanted to say Hi and give me a hug. So, we all trouped outside to meet with Esperanza and her friend on the front porch. The awkward exchange was brief and soon I was ushering the children back inside to get them ready for bed. Esperanza later text me asking for a time to get together to talk and we settled on a Friday evening as yet to be determined. I don’t know what to expect from this meeting and the unknown makes me nervous. I did indicate I would not want Primero to be there because he has spent enough time as the go-between. I made no mention of this to Primero, although I am sure he is aware.

 

My least favorite day of the year is looming on the horizon. My sister told me she won’t be home for Mother’s Day this year because her bridal shower is the weekend after and she didn’t want to come home two weekends in a row, which I understand. I asked Primero about getting something for his girlfriend for Mother’s Day (which is just a few days after her daughter turns 1) and his mom. He said getting something for his girlfriend would be weird but he wants to get something for his mom. This will be on our agenda this weekend. I hate Mother’s Day and I’m not looking forward to it. I would like to just sleep through it so I can pretend the day never happened. I want to not be so negative about it, but thus far I have found myself incapable. Still, I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

Mini Time Capsule

Yesterday I wrote about a lot of stuff. It was just the stuff cluttering my mind and life lately and it felt good to just let it out. My life is complicated, but who doesn’t have a complicated life?

 

Last night I didn’t quite get all my chores completed, but I did manage to move my sweaters to the storage bins in my closet and bring out my summer clothes. As I was making the swap, some of the clothing I was rediscovering brought back memories from when I wore it last. The coral colored one shoulder shirt that might be too young for me these days, reminds me of the Ariana Grande concert where it was storming and Primero and Esperanza and I embraced our drenched condition and decided to sing and dance in the rain. As I tucked away the winter sweaters, my fluffy purple sweater reminded me of Christmas, when the house was full of kids and cheer. I thought of how this seasonal exchange was like a mini time capsule, storing memories of the past season and reintroducing memories of the year before. I wondered who I would be when I re-opened these containers to find warm sweaters for the cold season. And I remembered the hopes I had had when I exchanged my sleeveless tops for my fuzzy fleeces. Some of the memories made me sad, thinking about how different things were when fall befell us. But, I try not to dwell in remnants of what could have been. There is plenty of things I have to worry about in the present.

 

This morning I was harassed by my sister’s fiancé regarding the bridal shower invitations. Good Lord! Listen, I wish I had had them out last week, but it was a rough week and it didn’t happen. The good news is the darn things are in the mail now! Sheesh! I was sent a short response regarding the invitations and tried to not be irritated by the whole thing. I’m sure his mother put him up to asking me about it and her intrusion is now working on my last nerve. She has wanted to run this show from the get go and while I was initially enthused to have the help I now feel like she is stepping on toes and I’m ready for the whole thing to be over and done. Fortunately, after this irritant I discovered that Mr.J’s girlfriend has heeded my gentle prodding about GED classes in the young adult program where I work and she joined the class. I cannot tell you how much this boosted my spirits! Finally! Someone has heard what I said and my words did not fall on deaf ears! I am so proud of her for taking this step because things can only go up from here. The young adult program will not only help her get her GED but it will also help her with post-secondary education and/or job placement. I had told Mr. J and his girlfriend about this program months ago and had given up hope she would actually start the classes, so it was extra-sweet to see her this morning after dealing with more wedding drama.

 

Tonight there is a planning meeting scheduled for the little ones. The county case worker will not be there, she already sent an email. She did offer one piece of information and that was the date for TPR. It is set two weeks before Love Bug’s second birthday in June. So, roughly two weeks after we have court next month for a permanency hearing, there will be a TPR hearing. The email said the neither CHOR case worker nor the three of us have to attend the TPR hearing. I’m glad we won’t have to be there because I’m sure it will be an emotional event. If this case follows like Primero’s case did, adoption will be roughly 9 months after TPR, so sometime in March of next year. I’m hoping this case will move faster, but I certainly won’t hold my breath

Asking Why

I have never felt compelled to join other bloggers in writing about infertility to acknowledge National Infertility Awareness Week #NIAW. The theme this year is #StartAsking and for some reason, that resonated with me. Well, to be exact, it terrified me. I have spent the past 6 ½ years hoping no one would ask me. Hoping no one would ask me when I was having a baby or why I didn’t have a baby. Hoping no one would ask me why we didn’t try a particular technique or doctor. Hoping no one would ask me why I felt like I was dying inside because my body didn’t work like a proper woman’s body. Hoping no one would ask me why we stopped pursuing a biological child and started classes to adopt. Infertility, to me, was a dark and scary secret. I didn’t breathe a word to anyone about our difficulties until we were half way through our second year of trying to conceive. Prior to then I would grin and bear any questions regarding procreation and then sob in private afterwards. The pain of infertility pushed me away from others, it held me hostage in a dark world of lost hope and broken dreams. Infertility invaded every aspect of my life and sucked out all the color and joy in my world until I was a mere shell of my former self. Infertility gutted me to the very morrow of my bones as cycle after cycle repeated the same highs of hope and lows of reality. We pursued infertility treatments and were all but promised a healthy infant, for a price. A price too steep and so our journey to a biological child came to a heart wrenching end. My insurance did not cover any infertility treatments. The only way I could get the initial work-up covered was because it was billed not as infertility, but as a medical problem due to my fluctuating cycles. Even my insurance company wanted to hide my infertility. Eventually, I lost everything as my marriage could not withstand infertility and adoption and I was left in the loneliest and darkest emotional place I have ever been. Those months are a blur, something my mind has blocked out to protect me from the insurmountable pain. Infertility had taken everything from me and I felt I had nothing left to give.

 

Over the years I have asked why more times than I care to count. Why God why? Why me? Why can’t I have a baby? Why didn’t this treatment work? Why can’t this cycle be the one? Why must I endure these invasive procedures to do something my body is supposed to do all on its own? Why must I have PCOS? Why? All of these questions drove me to an ugly place, an emotional pit where there was nothing but the pain of infertility. I fought my way out and I now am a mother to my teenage son who I adopted from the foster care system. I’m a mother-to-be for the two little children who are currently placed with me as a foster placement. I was incredibly lucky to have the baby placed with me at three days old and I have so enjoyed caring for him as he grows. But, as I didn’t realize, adoption is not a cure for infertility. I am still infertile and I still struggle with the ramifications of having PCOS. So, now, instead of asking why me, I want to ask different questions.

 

• Why are infertility treatments not covered by insurance?
• Why is infertility still taboo?
• Why are there no run/walk/golf for the cure campaigns for infertility research?
• Why is infertility not discussed in sex ed classes?
• Why are 1 in 8 couples struggling with infertility and yet it still isn’t seen in the mainstream media?

 

I don’t have answers to these questions any more than I had answers to my initial set of questions. My hope is that Resolve will have a positive impact to help educate non-sufferers about the complexities of infertility and to remove the stigma that pushes so many to hide their struggles. For more information about this campaign, please visit the Resolve.org website

Life as I Know It

This weekend was another busy one. And, rather than feeling ready to greet the new work week, I’m just beat, totally exhausted. I’d like nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for several days in a row. I feel like I am constantly pulled in 15 different directions and while I try to shift from issue to issue, I feel totally ineffective in completing any tasks. This is my week and the things churning around me as I know them:

 

Love Bug’s speech therapist is coming to visit tonight. She wasn’t out last week because she got sick, which was actually advantageous for me because her visit was planned for one of the evenings I would be coming back from my far away training and we would not have been home when she got there. I had forgotten to text her and let her know our schedule had changed. After the speech therapist leaves and we have dinner, we need to go grocery shopping before picking up Primero. And I really need to clean the bathroom! My hope is to accomplish all of this by 9 pm so I can sit down and watch Dancing with the Stars.

 

I did a lot of laundry yesterday and I folded all of it last night. I just need to put it away, which is always my least favorite thing to do. I changed my winter shoes for my summer shoes yesterday, but I need to change my clothing over because it just looks silly to wear sweaters with sandals. I was also helping my mom do the same thing, which meant a lot of running up and down the stairs at her house as I tried to discern which skirts she wanted to send to the attic and which ones she wanted to keep in her closet. I had to use Primero’s go-go-gadget arms to reach these things, since I’m shorter than my mom and have the reach of an un-athletic T-Rex. He was on the phone and not pleased to act as my reacher-of-things. I tried to understand where my mom wanted her clothing stored, but it seems my dad’s organizational habits require the directional skills of an inebriated squirrel and so I could barely find the things she requested. My goal is to complete this herculean task when I’m up at their place again on Sunday, but there is also the task of washing and replacing the screens to all 954 windows in their house (I swear my mom is the only person on the face of this planet who takes the screens out of her windows for winter and replaces them in the Spring – it’s insanity!). Did I mention I should really dust upstairs? I’ve contacted a landscaper about handling her outside because really, I cannot weed all her flower beds whilst doing all the other above mentioned things. I am only one human being after all.

 

Tuesday evening we are having another planning meeting with our new case worker and Chica Marie’s mobile therapist. I hate these futile meetings, mostly because the biggest information giver never attends so it’s just the rest of us asking questions no one present knows the answers to. After the last planning meeting I emailed my questions to the county case worker and her answers left me more confused than informed. Fortunately, I was able to speak to her in-person a few weeks later and got answers, but I would still be going mad now if I hadn’t had that opportunity. And, because our case worker seems to be changing every quarter, I find I’m re-telling the same things over and over again simply for contextual understanding to current and on-going issues. That doesn’t get old, by the way. Not in the slightest.

 

I’m trying to understand how having a crush on someone is not hurtful to the one you are dating. According to Primero, this is no big deal, but in my (adult/mature) eyes, this seems to be a very slippery slope. It’s very hard parenting a child who has had years of different morals instilled in them. I feel like I am always walking a tight rope between what my moral codes are and what I feel is the right thing to do and what beliefs Primero may hold that differ from mine. I’ve had chats with Primero about being loyal to a relationship and how much it hurt him when his girlfriend did things with her ex. On Saturday, as we were out running errands, we tried to stop in and see Hermano at work. Unfortunately, he had to start work before we got there and while we did stay and eat, he didn’t get a chance to visit with us. Primero gave me some sad information concerning Hermano, which I’m focusing on letting go. We’ll have to arrange another time to see him since it’s been months since we last saw him. I think it is this week that he will be finding out the gender of the baby, although he indicated he might not be sharing that right away. When I last spoke to him, I asked if his girlfriend would be having a baby shower and he said he wasn’t sure. I would like to contribute, even if they would rather we not attend. I can always send a gift card. Primero got emotional when we remembered talking about planning a surprise graduation party for Esperanza many, many moons ago. I had suggested he mention the idea to his aunt and uncle, but he declined and so we let the topic drop. It’s sad to think of what could have been.

 

A friend of mine told me over the weekend that her oldest daughter is expecting her first child in November. Her daughter will soon be 19 and my friend is not fond of the boyfriend. She is devastated that her daughter is having a child so young because she did the same thing and she struggled for years. I cannot understand having a baby as a teenager, even when you are legally and adult. There is so much life to be lived before settling down! I was anxious about going off to college and finding a career path. A baby was not on my radar in the slightest. Don’t get me wrong, I love being there for my three, but it takes a lot out of you. And while I enjoy it, I don’t know if I would if I hadn’t had some life experiences before pursuing motherhood.

 

I have once again delved into the world of online dating. It takes so much time to keep on top of it! I feel utterly bombarded with messages and I scarcely have the time to weed out the weirdos and not-gonna-happens. Still, I am tired of being lonely and the only way that will change is if I focus on finding someone and so there it is. It would be so much simpler if my perfect partner could just identify himself immediately and save me the time of having to actually meet the men I’m talking to, but sadly that’s the way things go. It floors me how I prominently display the fact that I have children and yet some men think I can be ready to go on a date at the drop of a hat – um? Am I supposed to just throw some newspaper on the floor and hope for the best? Ideally, Primero could stay home with the little ones and I would trust him to do so, but the foster care rule about being 21 still applies even if other rules have softened. So, that means planning ahead. Why does this bother some men so much? But, it is also a good tool to assess those who are truly interested in dating and those who just want desert – if they can’t be patient enough to schedule something, they are off my potentials list. If they are too demanding of my time they also quickly drop in favor. Maybe it’s a bad way of looking at things, but it’s just how I operate.

 

I spent most of yesterday cleaning. Saturday we were running errands, like taking the cat to the groomers, looking at pavers for the backyard sidewalk project I’ve been “working on” for nearly 4 years now, and searching for the perfect burlap ribbon. I’m making the bows for the isle for my sister’s wedding and I had to make about 400 bows to send her pictures and allow her to pick the one she liked best. Then, I had to return to the store and buy more of the ribbon she chose. I also wrote up the bridal shower invitations and need to get them mailed today. The rest of the bridal party wanted the invitations to be sent out weeks ago (the shower is on May 14^th) so they’ve been on me to get it done. After I did 4 loads of laundry and washed two sinks full of dishes, I moved my winter shoes out of the closet and put my summer shoes in their place. But that time it was time to go up to the farm and start cleaning my parent’s place. I cleaned the bathrooms, vacuumed upstairs and down the steps. My mom admitted to being depressed about being stuck in her seat, but things took a turn for the worst when she asked me about my sister’s wedding dress. The wedding dress saga in Reader’s Digest terms: my sister chose a wedding dress last year after many grueling shopping trips in which she bickered with my mom and there were hurt feelings all around. The dress she chose was beautiful but she wanted to modify it rather drastically. The back was all lace and she wanted it removed. One dress shop said she couldn’t do it, another promised their seamstress could deliver and well, the short of it is they couldn’t. The dress just did not fit her figure once tailored and she was so upset she ended up hating the dress. She loathed it so much, she decided to sell it and start from scratch. Only, now the clock is ticking. She lives in DC we live in PA, so distance, time and her schedule made coming home to dress shop hard to do. My mom has been asking about the dress but my sister only confided in me on Saturday the true fate of the dress. And that she found a new dress with the help of her friend who also happens to be the officiant for the wedding. My mom asked me yesterday if I knew what had become of the dress and so I told her what I knew. And my mom lost it. She sobbed most of the time I was there because she was so hurt that my sister went wedding dress shopping and found her wedding dress without her. My mom was angry at me for telling her about it and then angry at my sister for being too gutless to tell her herself. My mom has sworn she isn’t going to the bridal shower and is threatening to not go to the wedding. I’ve been trying to stay out of the it, to keep above the fray, but alas I find myself squarely in the middle. The bad thing is, my mom can really hold a grudge and it seems she is going there with my sister. I’m trying to find what fun is left in this wedding endeavor and make the most of it, but I gotta tell ya, it ain’t easy!

 

I was thinking about having a second birthday party for Love Bug, but his birthday is less than a week before the wedding and so I will probably be too overwhelmed to plan much less execute an actual party. Maybe I’ll just invite some people over to our place for cake and ice cream. It would be nice if his grandmother and Mini Momma could be there. And, this would mean doing something with the backyard, since that’s where I envision this non-party birthday get-together happening. Of course, this also opens up the dilemma about who to invite versus not invite because space would be limited. Maybe I should look into a park? This is getting into party territory….

 

Mother’s Day is looming on the horizon. I despise Mother’s Day and this year my own mother has taken a decidedly negative stance on the holiday as well, although for different reasons. Primero’s girlfriend’s baby will be a year old just before Mother’s Day and Primero has already mentioned she is having a party. As of now, Primero won’t be going because the baby’s father will be there and the girlfriend and her family don’t want any issues arising. You know, all that baby mama drama. Yuck! I’m glad that Primero won’t be going although I suspect he will spring a surprise invitation on me and expect to go anyway. This is his M.O. I still remember all the angst over this girl and her baby last year and how it has really only dulled slightly. I’ve just learned to keep my mouth shut about it because it’s not something Primero and I will ever see eye-to-eye on. Their faux relationship is harmless so long as Primero doesn’t become the next baby daddy. I have to ask Primero if he wants to get his girlfriend and his mom something for Mother’s Day because we will have to do that this weekend.

 

Interspersed among all the above things swirling through my head is the more mundane things like what to eat for dinner and if the kids need their hair washed tonight or not (luckily, not because I washed it last night). I feel bad for the cat who went to the groomers on Saturday because she lost all her hair, it was so matted that was the only option. Now the other cat is pesting her and they are fighting incessantly. The smaller dog has been acting weird the past few days and she spontaneously ran out of the house and jumped into the van yesterday when we were getting loaded up to go to the farm. I joked it was because she got into a fight with the non-shaved cat and has a cut on her ear. Before we could convince the small dog to get back in the house, the bigger dog (who just turned 11 on Saturday) dashed out into the van as well so we decided to just take them along. I have to find the paperwork for Chica Marie to have an EKG done on Thursday and I also need to find the paperwork for her daycare to fill out to see if her medication is helping her behaviors. I sure could use a vacation!  

Stay Reprised

It has been a long week and I’m exhausted. Last month I have started a year-long professional development class that requires I drive to the capital two days per month. On those days my hectic 15 minute commute (well, it’s actually longer than that because I have to drop Primero off at school and then take the little ones to daycare before arriving at work) is stretched into a 90 minute marathon. I have to wake up extra early and get us all out the door by 6:30 am in order to reach my training destination with enough time to speed walk from the cheaper parking lot to the building where the class is held. At the end of the day I have to battle hordes of traffic to get back to pick the little ones up from daycare and then find them something for dinner before collapsing on the couch. I am enjoying the classes but not the added stress of the long-distance commute. I never asked, but it could be possible to stay over, but that would mean finding a place for the children to go while I’m away and that seems like even more of a hassle. Regardless, this class and the travel, makes for a stressful week.

 

Tuesday night, when I took the little ones to pick up Primero at the CFA, Esperanza crawled into the van to hug us all, much to my surprise. I wasn’t really paying attention when Primero walked up to the van, I just noticed him out of the corner of my eye and unlocked the doors. I looked up when I heard him opening the back door near Chica Marie and that is when I saw Esperanza getting into the van. Because I have a wild imagination, I thought someone was chasing her at first. But, she was too calm. She didn’t say a word to me, just wrapped my head and shoulders in a hug and hopped back out of the van to chat with Primero who was trying to get Love Bug to say, “buddy” because he says it so cutely. Esperanza gave us a second round of hugs before Primero climbed into the front passenger seat and we drove off. I commented to Primero, “that was strange” as we pulled away and he ignored my comment to tell me his news of the day.

 

I don’t know what to make of this sequence of events. Just the day before Esperanza had called me regarding a transportation request for school and I was too scared to answer. Not scared, hesitant? Nervous? Cautious? Stubborn? I did text a response and called the school as requested, but I just couldn’t bring myself to answer the phone. I don’t really know what to say and, to be honest, I don’t really know how to pretend like nothing happened. I’m not angry and the pain of what happened only hurts when I think about what we had, but I just don’t know how to be. I guess it is believed I should be “over it” and just let the past stay in the past, but that’s like ignoring a festering wound and hoping it will just go away on its own. My family was thrown into utter chaos, my relationship with my son was threatened, I was threatened personally and a lot of very ugly things were said. How do I forgive that without an apology or any acknowledgement of the actions that created this mess? I want to forgive and I wish I could forget it all, but I also want to protect the children and my heart. I’m fearful of doing something to upset the balance, to cause a similar pain to be rained upon us because I cannot waiver on my standards. I don’t understand any of this. And I have no idea how to proceed. Maybe I’m being overly cautious, I don’t know. I miss how things were when we were together more.  I know time heals all wounds but time does not have the same cathartic effect on trust. I’ve heard trust being described as a piece of paper – once it is crinkled it can be smoothed out but it won’t ever be the same. I’m not so doom and gloom, but trust is a very tricky thing; it's very hard to get it back once it’s gone. At this point, I’m just letting the ball sit quietly in Esperanza’s court. I am here, as I have always been and none of the promises I made were ever rescinded. Her life has completely changed, but my life, our lives, are very much the same. And, as undesirable as that may be, that lends to a certain stability I find comforting. In the last 10 years or so, my world has been rocked by some pretty damaging things. Yet, I somehow manage to keep rising, to stand tall, and to soldier on. I guess that’s just life. And, oddly enough, this brings to mind my word of the year – STAY. Storms of change and upheaval swirl around me but I STAY.    

Telephone

Yesterday afternoon at work I went to the bathroom and when I got back to my desk my phone was blowing up with phone calls, texts, and a voicemail. This is not my typical Monday afternoon! I first listened to the voicemail and understood what all the hoopla was about – I needed to call Esperanza’s school and give permission for her to leave school with a friend who was driving her to work. Ok. I called and spoke to the Vice Principal, gave my permission and thought the whole thing was over. A moment after I hang up, I see Esperanza was calling me, but I choose not to answer. I figure she hadn’t gotten the news that I made the call, so I text her to let her know I did call and give permission. Of all the ludicrous things! I guess it’s just a school cya, but asking my permission for anything for Esperanza is sort of an oxymoron – my permission, my anything is not needed. We haven’t spoken in months. The only time I hear from her is when I need to communicate some insipid permission to the school. Primero indicated she had tried to text me a few weeks ago, but I never received a text. And I’m not going to resume communicating through Primero, it was one of the greatest mistakes I made with Esperanza. She is her own person capable of having a conversation with me if and when she so chooses. I won’t let Primero be the go-between anymore because it isn’t fair to him, for one, and because then words and meanings get colored by his perception which has caused friction in the past. I am open to conversing without Primero interfering. I’m sure he will find that difficult, because he seems to want to be involved in every detail regarding his family – perhaps some left-over hyper vigilance from his past life, I don’t know. I have stayed the course, as far as I am concerned. I have never rescinded any of my offers or promises and the only thing I asked for in return was respect. Primero seems to think any action I take, any offer to help, will be viewed as me trying to win back affection or work out an apology. There is only one thing I felt needed an apology from me and that was covered in the beginning before things got really bad. I don’t need to give an apology, I need to receive one. And unless or until that happens, I don’t anticipate answering my phone, rather I will keep communication to texting where anything I say can be seen and saved and not misconstrued into something hurtful to use against me. I suppose I have some trust issues in this area but I tend to try to play it safe when I am hurt so deeply. I have turned away from the mess and the ugliness of what happened and I’m concentrating on the children living under my roof, including Primero. And I can only hope that someday things will be better.    

Weekend Warrior

I’m a fixer by nature. Maybe it’s because I’m the oldest child in my family. Maybe it’s just from our family dynamic of big personalities, stubbornness, and very verbal opinions. Maybe it’s just because I’d rather we all get along and I’ll do my part (and more) to make it that way. I don’t know. I just know I work to fix things when I can. And this compromise can put me some sticky situations because I am not immune to the stubbornness of my family, which means I’m fairly tenacious.

 

It was a very stressful weekend heading into a very stressful week. Friday evening there was an altercation at a local restaurant where we dine frequently. I don’t know if it’s the terrible two’s or just the two week combination of a head cold/sinus/allergies and the whole tooth debacle, but Love Bug has been fairly incorrigible lately. He was especially ornery at dinner Friday night so to calm him, Primero was playing music on his phone. The music was fairly loud (and I think I’m becoming immune to it) and a woman at the table behind us asked Primero to turn it down. Here’s the set up: The woman and her two kids, a boy and a girl probably around the ages of 7 and 9, were seated behind us sometime after we had ordered our food. They were expecting the father, who arrived roughly 15 minutes later. They were sitting behind me so Primero was facing their table. When the father got there, a lot of shoving ensued as he tried to cram himself into the booth with his daughter and I heard him admonishing her for not giving him enough room. Love Bug was clearly melting down, beginning to scream and throw things. It was clear the music was calming him down. I can understand asking to have the volume lowered. Primero immediately turned the music off and apologized. But, that wasn’t good enough for the woman at the table behind us. I didn’t really know what was happening, other than I knew Andres had been asked to turn the music off. His face got red and he uttered, “I need to get out of here” and stormed out of the restaurant. Love Bug and Chica Marie were eating their ice cream and I was trying to rush them so we could leave, since things had gotten uncomfortable. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even turn around. I had plans to talk to Primero about it, to let him know it is rude to play loud music in a restaurant, even if it is to keep the baby quiet. But, I had no intentions of speaking to the woman behind me. As I was gathering our things to pay the bill and leave, I heard, plain as day, the woman complaining to her waitress. It was over, the issue was over and done with, but she had to bring it back up to talk about it. Now, it was my turn to get red in the face. I turned to her, baby on my hip, and said, “Must we still talk about this? It’s over and done.” She sputtered about how rude it was and the music was inappropriate (um, no I don’t let Primero play inappropriate music for the children – yes it was rap, but it’s wasn’t offensive). To which I responded, “No, you continuing to talk about it when it’s over is rude and inappropriate. And you know what, these are foster kids, but thanks for judging us!” I was so angry I was shaking. I was so visibly upset and complaining to the manager when I was paying the bill that she took money off the bill because I said I didn’t think we’d be back. And I asked her to talk to her waitress about the situation. The waitress should not have talked about us when I was still sitting right there! I stormed out of the restaurant seething and met an equally angry Primero by the car. It was then that I found out Primero didn’t leave because he was asked to turn the music off, he stormed out because the woman was making condescending faces at him, which was pissing him off. What a terrible example to make for her kids! I praised Primero for leaving instead of causing a scene and then told him about the scene I caused since the rude woman couldn’t leave well enough alone. We drove Primero to his uncle’s house, since he had plans to visit with his cousin who is in town from Las Vegas. I had asked Primero to be home at 11 and he didn’t get in until after 11:30, which irritated me, mostly because the dogs have a hissy fit and wake me up.

 

Saturday my sister had planned, months ago in fact, for my mom, me, the other brides maid, and the mother-in-law-to-be to go along to the salon for her hairstyle trial. I was talking with my mom about it last weekend because she was unsure if she would be able to go along. She is now wearing a hard boot instead of the cast, but she isn’t able to put full weight on her left foot at this point. So, she cannot easily go up and down stairs, since she still needs to hop. She doesn’t feel comfortable with me wheeling her out of the house so my Brainiac idea was to have my sister’s fiancé come to the house to wheel her out and then I would take her to the salon appointment. I spoke with my sister about it and there was only a small, easily remedied hiccup – they had a meeting with the florist in the morning and they only have one car. So, the solution was to have the mother-in-law-to-be take my sister to the florist, freeing the car for the fiancé to drive to the farm and help me and my mom. Great! Done and done. But…. My mom asked about getting into the salon. So, my sister called the salon and was told there are two small steps and they are able to help a customer with a walker get up and down. My mom wasn’t sure she wanted to try it. I talked her into it. Until I made the fatal mistake of mentioning the mother-in-law-to-be would be taking my sister to the florist. My mom started to cry and said she didn’t want to go and hung up on me. (For more on the wedding drama go here and here) Sigh. I was contemplating not going myself and instead just visiting with my mom, but I thought I’d call my dad and see if he had any sage advice. We spoke for a few minutes about how hard things have been for my mom, how she had an issue at work last week and that being incapacitated during spring time is not helping her emotional well-being. I hemmed and hawed about it, but I finally called my sister after sending her a nondescript text saying “Mom doesn’t feel up to going today” as a cancellation to the above plans. I found my sister receptive to a conversation and we talked for a bit and agreed it wasn’t good for my mom to stay home and so we would carry on as planned. My sister would try to call her and let her know she was wanted at the event. Then my aunt called me. She had been on the phone with my mom (which is why she didn’t answer the first two phone calls my sister made) and wanted to know what was going on. I explained my error and how that upset the plans and my aunt agreed the plan to get her out was still the best and she also gave me her regrets, stating she needed to go see her mom (technically my grandmother) in the rehab because she fell and broke three ribs. I called my dad back to let him know the plans and because it occurred to me that I hadn’t made plans on how to get my mom back home. He said he had the smaller car and so it would be better for me to take her back in the van. My sister called stating she spoke with our mom and things were tense but my mom agreed to go, so the plans were definitely on. Thus, began my mad dash across the county. Primero had asked his uncle if he could come over, so that was my first stop. Then onto the bank for some cash and the meeting place for the respite foster home for the little ones, which was thankfully on my way to the farm. I found my mom to be nearly ready to go, I just needed to get her a shirt, and very moody. I tried to remain calm and chipper, gathering the things she needed, getting the van prepared for her wheelchair and walker, and listening to her complain about the wedding, my sister, her leg, and the state of the house and surrounding yards. My sister’s fiancé showed up and handily wheeled her out of the house, down the two ramps and right to the van and we were off. A quick stop for gas and we made our way to the salon in town. Fortunately my sister was there already and so she came and helped get my mom up the steps and into the salon. The hair stylist (her, her older sister, me and my sister used to all be the BEST of friends when we were teenagers – then life happened and we are hardly friends anymore) offered us some wine (OMG THANK YOU!) and got to work. My sister brought along the flower arrangement for the wedding along with a few extra roses to put in her hair. I got my mom settled, took pictures, tried to talk to the mother-in-law-to-be, gave advice on the hairstyle, and text Primero about seeing a movie afterwards. Two hours later and it was time to head back home. I did a quick make-up trial for my sister in the parking lot and then drove my mom home all the while listening to her rehash her complaints and hurts about the wedding as well as her statement, “If I had to permanently be in a wheelchair I’d get the biggest gun I could find and end it.” Getting her out of the house did not do much for her psyche. I called my dad and he was home from the market and thus available to wheel my mom back into the house where I heard more of the same talk regarding her displeasure at how my sister has handled things with the wedding as well as her anger over not being able to tend to her flower gardens.  I left the farm and text Primero I was on my way to pick him up. I was going thirty minutes into town to get him, hoping we’d have enough time to grab some dinner and then head back in the same direction of the farm to pick up the little ones. As I got to his uncle’s apartment I saw I had a missed call from his uncle and Primero text me to let me know they had gone to Dairy Queen, which was further away. I was livid! I called Primero and had to deal with his smart mouth on top of it. I spoke with his uncle about the plans regarding Primero’s mother’s anniversary party and learned it was going to be a big family reunion meeting/conversation and that he planned on leaving around 2 and being back no later than 6-6:30. This was more agreeable to me than the time Primero had told me, which was the party was starting at 7:30 pm in a town 40 minute away on a school night. Not a great idea. We had to rush off to get the little ones, driving twenty minutes back in the direction I had come from. We picked up the little ones and Primero asked to go to Old Navy to see about getting a new outfit, stating he needed new shorts. We didn’t stay too long in the store because Love Bug was grumpy and needed to go home to bed. Saturday ended with a redbox movie.

 

Sunday morning Love Bug had a haircut appointment. We go on off times so the barber can take his time and so it’s quiet for the little one. The barber didn’t cut Love Bug’s hair how I wanted it and spent time complaining his hair was knotted even after I confessed to not having time to comb it out. Sigh. Feeling sorta crappy about the baby’s haircut and the comments about his knotted hair (I DID’T HAVE TIME TO COMB IT!), we went grocery shopping getting home in time for Primero to have lunch before his older brother came to pick him up for the big family gathering. I was on pins and needles about the meeting because Primero told me his uncle told him something totally different than what he told me his expectations were for the reunion. Primero was worried about how things were going to go and how his mother would handle it if negative things were discussed on the day she was supposed to be celebrating. Luckily, it was a positive experience and seemed to create a lot of healing for the entire family. But, Primero was not home at the time I was made to believe he would be home. He finally text me to tell me he was back in town but visiting with Mr. J’s girlfriend and would be back by 8:45. I had been outside with the little ones most of the afternoon, so I needed to give them a bath. Unfortunately, Love Bug pooped in the tub again while I was taking Chica Marie’s hair out of  the rubber bands to wash it. And of course I didn’t see the floaters until I had already dumped the poopy water over their little heads. I put a naked Love Bug in the bathroom sink and had a shivering, naked Chica Marie standing next to me as I drained and washed the tub. Good Lord!

 

After the stressful weekend the week started off on the wrong foot. Transportation for Chica Marie’s special school program has been changed, they will pick her up at home, but it will take two weeks. So, this morning I had to run her to daycare to meet her bus. And the morning was just flying by with everyone not being ready to go. I had asked Primero to put the trash out last night, but he didn’t. I recommended getting up earlier to put it out because there was a lot of trash and because I knew there would not be any extra time this morning. He did not get up any earlier. At one point, when we were supposed to be in the car pulling away from the house, I was yelling for everyone to run, run, run and move, move, move. Primero got angry because I brushed Love Bug off while running past him and he fell (Primero said I pushed him). He refused to get in the car and instead walked to school, texting me later that I don’t appreciate what he does to help me and I treat them like the dogs when I yell at them like that. Never mind all that I do all. the. time. to keep the household running. All the dishes I wash, the laundry, the cleaning, the RUNNING to get some kid some place they want/need to be, the meals I prepare, the time and money I spend entertaining the children. Any appreciation for any of those things? No. All that I do is taken for granted. And when I ask for help and then don’t worship the ground he walks on, I’m the bee-otch. I know I’m not the cool mom. I’m the one who tells him to take the trash out. I’m not the mom who likes the same music as him. I’m the mom who tells him he can’t play songs with offensive lyrics when the kids are around. I’m not the mom who likes all his friends or likes that fact that he calls his girlfriend’s child his “step-daughter.” I’m the mom who tries to teach him how to be a grown up and that children are a responsibility not a fashion accessory. I’m not the mom who has an amazing story of redemption to tell. I’m the mom who is boring and does boring things like buys groceries and gets excited about using the points from groceries to get gas a few cents cheaper. I’m not the mom that’s part of his family. I’m the other person just doing her best, held to a higher standard and never quite making the mark. I’m the mom waiting in bed for the good-night hug, worrying each night it might be the last one. Of course I didn’t say any of this to Primero. I just thanked him for the help, told him I appreciated all he did and let it go. I felt the fight leave my body and I had no desire to even try to confront him about his warped thinking. I’m tired of fighting to get Primero to respect me, to think of me as anything other than a punisher, a rule-maker, and an ATM.

 

Primero relayed to me a conversation he had with his cousin when he visited with her Friday night. She and I have the same name and apparently he was confusing her in stories since our names are the same. She asked him why he didn’t call me mom (which, incidentally, Love Bug’s therapist asked him the same thing last week). He must have said something along the lines like it would be weird or something and his cousin went off on a tirade about how he should call me mom which made him feel uncomfortable. In his usual fashion, he changed the subject and I guess they didn’t speak about it again. Last week, when Love Bug’s speech therapist heard him call me by my name she asked him why he didn’t call me mom and his response was because he was adopted. When she asked, I cringed. If I had the power of teleportation, I would have used it right then and there to get me out of the room. This is the sorest of subjects and not something I ever try to discuss with Primero. Not since the whole incident when I first asked him to call me mom. I just stuff it all deep, deep down and forget about it as best as I can. I don’t know why he shared this story with me. I didn’t really say anything after he told me about it because there isn’t really anything for me to say. I might have said it wasn’t nice for her to pressure him about things like that, but I really had nothing else to say. It’s this thing with him. It’s not something I want to rehash because it is way too painful. Hearing his cousin express exasperation at his stubbornness only compounds my feelings about the issue. I’ve said all I can say about the topic. It’s a deep wound. I don’t touch it.

Current Malaise

Primero’s mom told me he was spoiled. It ruffled my feathers a bit. My intention is not to raise spoiled brats who have no sense of appreciation for anything and feel entitled to everything. I would say, that’s the total opposite of what I would want to do. I’ve been accused of spoiling all the kids, of giving them things and experiences, attention and precedence that overshadows my own needs many times. I will be the first one to tell you, the children come first in my life. That’s what parenting is all about, isn’t it? And I don’t think I’ve dipped into the scary place where I’ve lost all my own identity and neglected my own needs to the point where I’ve depleted my reserves. I still do nice things for myself, like get a pedicure or buy a new (unnecessary) purse – it was on sale and so cute for summer, with a butterfly… But, I digress. 

 

I think the reason it rankled so much to hear Primero’s mother declare Primero spoiled is because she gets the one thing I can’t have. She is and always will be Primero’s biological mother. She gets the title. She gets the undying devotion. I do all of the work, the running to and from events and social engagements, checking grades and contacting teachers, making doctor appointments, disciplining, doling out chores and assignments, coaching and guiding and listening and just simply being there. I am always there. But, I’m never mom. It’s not something I will ever truly be ok with. It is always something that hurts, an internal damage that can never fully heal. Do I spoil him because I hope it might change my title? I’d love to respond a resounding “No!” but I’m really not sure. When I was talking to a friend about a similar topic, she suggested I not be there as much as I am, that I try to pull back a bit and not pursue Primero so hard, but let him come to me. The problem is, I don’t know how to do that. I show love by being there, that’s how you know I care. If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t show up. It’s something I learned from my parents as a child. My parents were always there. They were there for sporting events, school programs, 4-H shows, parent-teacher conferences, my parents were always there. I can’t not be there for Primero. He is going to be in a talent show at school. I will be there cheering him on. In my mind, he has gone so long without having someone be there, present at his important functions, unless I’m incapacitated, I don’t see how I couldn’t show up. Teenagers, by their very nature, take their parents for granted. Not that they shouldn’t be taught to appreciate what others (including their parents) do for them, but in my mind, it’s a sense of comfort and attachment for teens to take their parents for granted. And, it’s a sign of maturity when they stop! But, for all my being there I feel very insignificant in Primero’s life. He relies on me to do what I say and show up when I say I will and I’ve never given him a reason to doubt that. And I guess I don’t want to start now. 

 

I’ve heard the saying, “For every great kid there’s a mom who thinks she messing it all up.” Primero is a great kid. He’s loyal and kind to his friends and family. He is forgiving and compassionate in ways I wish more people would consider. He is doing much better in school this year and seems to be thinking about his future in a more positive way. He isn’t into drugs, he doesn’t sneak out to parties, and he is (usually – I mean, he is a teenager after all) respectful. I think, when I found out last month that he had hacked into my personal conversations on Facebook, it really shook me and created a fissure of distrust inside of me. If I can’t trust my own son, who can I trust? And maybe it wouldn’t have affected me the way it did if I hadn’t been raked over the coals with everything that happened with Esperanza, I don’t know. I’m sure he doesn’t mean it this way, but it certainly doesn’t help to hear Primero rejecting his new last name at every turn. He was massively upset that his new insurance card came with just my last name on it. I called and got it changed to his correct two last names, only my last name is 13 letters all by itself, so there wasn’t enough room to fit it all on. My last name was shortened and Primero stated he likes the shortened version much better and might try to just use that. On Sunday he was getting a haircut and we couldn’t remember what name was used the last time he was there. It turns out they had his old last name and my last name. Again, he was upset, insisting his mother’s last name be added and used. During the exchange he professed ignorance in spelling my last name, even though I’m fairly certain he knows how to spell it. I get that my last name is a mouthful, but it’s not a bad last name. And, he did choose to use it. I warned him it wouldn’t be easy using two last names when one of them is as long as mine is. I think he regrets taking my last name. And to me, that feels like rejection. My last name isn’t good enough. I’m not good enough. I’m not his mom. I’m just there.

I don’t know what causes my current malaise over Primero because honestly, things are going well. It might be more of a “me” problem than anything else, so something I need to work on. I doubt very much he’s clued into the feelings I shared above. If anyone asked him, I’m fairly certain he would respond that things are going well and that’s a good thing. I can keep my personal neurosis in check, thank goodness. And, so as not to leave this post on a bleak note, I will share a little something than warms my heart and soul. Last night I was sitting on the couch trying to relax after our long walk following dinner and the dishes. I had the TV on and Chica Marie was draped across my lap watching Sponge Bob. Love Bug saw her on my lap and got jealous, so he crawled up onto my other knee. Not to be out-done, Chica Marie kissed my left cheek. Imitating his big sister, Love Bug leaned in a planted a slobbery wet kiss on my right cheek. They then alternated kissing my cheeks as I squeezed them close in a bear hug and kissed them back. It was about the sweetest thing ever and one of those moments I wish I could bottle and pull out at will.   

Go Crazy-Crazy

Things have been pretty crazy lately. Again. We had a visit with Primero’s mother this past weekend, Love Bug had his broken tooth extracted yesterday and the saga of the transportation for Chica Marie’s school prep program continues.

 

The visit almost didn’t happen on Saturday. After nearly being denied respite for the little ones, more issues arose. The dominos began falling Friday evening when Primero’s mom text him to say she had to work from 7-3 on Saturday. I said no big deal, I’d call the respite home and see if we could change the times and they were agreeable to that, so one problem averted. Then, Saturday morning, a strange number kept calling my cell phone. I didn’t recognize the area code, so I ignored it. Then I saw I had voicemail and when I listened to it, it was the respite home. She had to take her daughter to the hospital and was unable to watch the children. Primero and I tried to scramble to get a different sitter last minute, but the only one we reached said she couldn’t go out because the roads were slippery. It had been snowing all morning and while it wasn’t laying on the roads, it was starting to accumulate on the grass. Undeterred, we decided to take the kids along. It wasn’t like we were doing something they couldn’t do – we were going to the mall and having dinner. We set out, the roads were just wet and the snow eventually stopped. As we were on our way, Primero got a text from his mom stating she had to work over-time. Primero demanded she decline the overtime, telling her we were already en route. We made a slight detour to visit the oil and vinegar shop I wanted to visit last week when we took an excursion to a different grocery store. Primero thought it was strange to taste test various infused olive oils and vinegars, but he participated and we all laughed at Love Bug’s face when he would try the tart concoctions. We then drove into town to pick up Primero’s mom. He went to retrieve her from her house and my heart stopped beating when he went inside. Maybe I have trust issues, but I didn’t like him being inside a strange house. Once they came back outside, we headed off to the mall and put our names in the queue at the restaurant and then walked the mall a bit while we waited. Love Bug was super grumpy at dinner, but other than that it was a pleasant meal. There were a few awkward moments, but mostly things went as well as expected. I still find it hard hearing Primero call his biological mother mom and call me by my name. I don’t think that ache will ever go away. There was a moment when we were leaving the mall where a man was staring at Primero (I thought he was staring at all of us) and his mom took offense and began shouting at him as we kept walking. When we talked about it later, Primero seemed to see this as his mom defending him, where I saw it as creating trouble. So the man was staring? He was rude. Does his non-verbal opinion matter in the grand scheme of things? Why make his stare mean anything by yelling at him, just walk on and ignore his ignorance. We dropped Primero’s mom off at a different spot from where we picked her up. Again, I was nervous when Primero went inside with her. We drove home with two sleeping kids and a few goodies purchased. Primero told me (not ask, he TOLD me) he is going to his mom’s one year sober anniversary this coming weekend. I asked him if his uncle or older brother were going because he could go along with them. He reported last night that he doesn’t think his brother is going but he hasn’t asked his uncle yet. We shall see how it all works out.

 

Yesterday was a mess. Well, to be more concise, yesterday I was a mess. I had to be up ridiculously early to get to the surgery center by 6 am for Love Bug’s tooth extraction. And he never sleeps well, so I don’t sleep well. I stopped at Dunkin Donuts for some coffee and a breakfast sandwich. It took nearly an hour for all the prep stuff to happen and Love Bug was getting antsy partially because he was up earlier than normal and partially because he was hungry but mostly because we were doing something out of the norm and it threw him off. Eventually, Love Bug and his glow worm were sent off to surgery with the nurse anesthetist. It only took roughly 30 minutes before his dentist was briefing me on how things went. She said the tooth was lose and starting to get abscessed, so it was a good thing it was removed. She capped the remaining front tooth and warned he couldn’t have anything sticky or gummy because it could pull the cap lose. A few minutes after she left the nurse called my name and walked me back to the room where Love Bug was being cradled by a kindly male nurse. The nurse ushered me into the only chair in the room and Love Bug was deposited in my arms with an IV in one arm and the pulse-ox monitor on his other hand. He promptly pulled the monitor from his finger and flung it to the floor. The nurse retrieved it and put it on his big toe then replaced his socks. I was warned, as we walked back to his room, that his mouth was still bloody from the extraction. This was an understatement. His mouth oozed bright red blood as much if not more than when he fell and hurt himself. Love Bug was sucking his pointer finger, as is his custom to soothe himself, and so the blood was dried on his finger in varying shades of burgundy red. The nurse gave me a wet paper towel to clean him off and he ended up getting some blood on my shirt, which I cleaned off as well. We sat for roughly 45 minutes before the nurses decided Love Bug was ok to leave. He was still very cranky and not really awake until we hit the cold air outside. The kindly nurse wheeled our things downstairs, since Love Bug did not want me sitting down with him and waited for me to pull the van around to the entrance rather than try to carry it all to the car at once. I drove home and fed Love Bug, who by now was much more awake and rowdy, a banana and a scrambled egg. I then passed out on the couch and he did too, so I scooped him up and put him in his crib. Our afternoon seemed to be going well until I fell asleep again. This time I was out cold and didn’t wake up until Love Bug was tapping me on the chest saying, “Eat-eat!” I had been trying to get my cell phone to charge and failing, so groggily walked to the kitchen, only to discover it was 5:23!! I was supposed to pick up Chica Marie by 4:30! And where was Primero? He didn’t come home from school! I was going to get groceries with Love Bug before I picked up Chica Marie! I didn’t change my clothes (I was wearing old, messy clothes to bum around the house – as is my usual habit), Love Bug was only wearing one sock because I couldn’t find his other one in the mess he made in the living room. We raced off to the daycare, where it seemed everyone was totally unconcerned that I was late retrieving Chica Marie. I had been informed by a phone call earlier in the afternoon, that Chica Marie had an accident while napping and they would be sending her soiled clothing and bedding home for me to wash. I had just washed the bedding this weekend and given the jumbled afternoon, I was in no mood to do laundry. Love Bug was hungry so I stopped for pizza and to grab the most essential items I needed from the dollar store. I bought Love Bug a strawberry fruit ice pop, which he made a royal mess with in his car seat as we drove back home. As I was trying to unload the few bags of groceries from the car, a bag broke spilling the contents in the street. I was so tired I was nearly in tears as I fed the kids and tried to start washing the dishes and do a load of laundry to clean Chica Marie’s bedding. Love Bug was so sticky from the ice pop and then the pizza sauce he smeared all over himself I decided he needed to get a bath. I put him in the tub first, then turned my attention on Chica Marie. When I turned back around I saw floaters in the tub. Love Bug had pooped in the tub. So, I scooped him out and washed him off in the kitchen sink (luckily I had not had time to start the dishes). I gave Chica Marie a cloth to wipe off with, since I was mostly concerned about her smelling like pee from her accident. Then, I sanitized the tub and the bath toys in the tub. I was finally able to wash the dishes just in time to leave to pick up Primero, thus ending a pretty rough day.

 

Things with transportation have not been worked out with the special school prep program that Chica Marie has started attending. I spoke with her teacher last week who initially told me nothing could be done, the bus couldn’t pick her up earlier at our house and I couldn’t drop her off any earlier than 8:30 at the facility. When I asked about getting her picked up at home at the time I was quoted (8:10), the teacher told me I could change the transportation myself. So, right after I spoke with her I called the contact I was given in transportation. I didn’t hear back. So I called again this morning. The woman told me the same thing she told me two weeks ago – the teacher has to request the change in transportation. So, I called the teacher again and now I wait and play the phone tag game with her. I’m ready to throw in the towel. I despise this county agency and their inability to simplify anything or answer phone messages promptly. If this doesn’t get resolved this week, I’m done. Chica Marie will just have to start school in the fall without the prep class. The stress of dealing with the transportation has eroded much of the goodwill I had towards the services offered.

 

Sunday, as we were pulling up in front of my parents’ house, I checked my Facebook and noticed an ultrasound picture posted. I expected to see it from Hermano, as he has posted a recent ultrasound picture of his child. Instead, it was from a guy I was seeing last year. We only went out a few times and I knew almost right away we had no future, but it was startling to see he is going to be a father right around the same time Hermano’s baby is expected. I found it strangely discouraging. I didn’t want to pursue anything with this guy (he was too socially awkward for my taste) but to know he found someone and got her pregnant roughly 2 months after our last date was a bit hard to swallow. That, and he never professed a desire to have a biological child (it’s something I’m sure to talk about because well, it’s not really an option for me). They are having a boy. I noticed, also on Facebook, a few months ago this same guy was posting about a house he bought, presumably for the girlfriend and her daughter (I think she’s a year younger than Chica Marie), which seemed crazy given they hadn’t been together all that long. I want to take heart in this newly discovered information. If someone who is socially awkward can find love, surely I can too! But, I find it has the opposite effect – what’s so wrong with me that I’m still single? Sigh. Yesterday was a day I really wished I had a partner in all of this because I needed to tap out for a breather. I really could have used someone else to do the dishes and the laundry because it was a real struggle to push myself to do those things. And, the problem with being able to do it all alone is that if there ever were someone wanting to join this mess, I would probably decline their help because I wouldn’t be able to relinquish the control. Sometimes I wish I had time to actively pursue dating but mostly I find it’s a waste. I don’t have the hours to dedicate to actually vetting a match before agreeing to meet and date. Too bad Mr. Right can’t just pop up while I’m out doing my regular thing. A girl can dream, can’t she?

Interacting with Biological Family

Last week a fellow foster-adopt blogger posted about interacting with biological family and having open relationships with the families of her foster children. I really connected to her post because in it she explained how she feels she has grown from when she first became a foster parent until present time. Like her, I was shocked to hear how open some relationships were in foster-adopt when I was going through the initial training. I began researching open adoptions after this training, but stopped when we got our first placement because there wasn’t any biological family involved, their rights had already been terminated before the little boy moved in with us and there were no visits. After everything changed and I decided to continue on as a single foster mother, I took in a second placement. This child was old enough to remember her family and to voice an opinion about interacting with them. I had met her older sister, but never met her mother and the girl only had a few visits with her mother before they were stopped. This girl, older now, has found me on Facebook and we have spoken a few times. She has since found her father and a brother who was living with him and she’s been in touch with them. My third placement was only with me for a month and again, I had no interaction with their mother other than through the case worker and that was only to hear complaints from their mom. My fourth placement was when I truly interacted with biological family of the children in my care. I had met the children’s mom and even dropped the kids off at her place for overnight visits. The first time I met her she was exceptionally rude, but I tried to remain calm. She had my direct phone number (it was given to her by the foster family who previously had the children) and on several occasions she called me to chew me out about something she didn’t like. I would almost always redirect her to her case worker, as these are not things she should have been yelling at me about. Again, from my case worker I would hear her complaints about stupid things, like the laundry smelling like it was dried outside (because it was) and she didn’t like that. I also interacted with the grandmother to the little girl and again, it wasn’t always positive. When I got frustrated at the grandmother bringing the child back to me at 10-11 o-clock on a Sunday night, she rerouted around me and only picked up and dropped off at the baby-sitter’s place.

 

So, when Primero moved in and he was still having regular visits with his mom, I was leery in getting to know her, worried it would be a similarly difficult situation. Contrary to my previous experience, his mother was gracious and thankful when she first met me. We were cordial and I even drove her home on several occasions after she visited with Primero. During the holidays that first year (2014) we interacted a little more at family functions, but by this time it was determined Primero wouldn’t be reunifying with his mother and so it was a little awkward. She told me later she thought I was stand-offish. I tried to extend an olive branch and forge a relationship with her, but it quickly fizzled out. I’ve heard things were posted on Facebook (I’m not sure if I was indirectly referred to or if my name was used – we aren’t friends on Facebook) regarding my contact with Primero’s family and I understand it’s really just coming from a place of hurt and jealousy. Primero has expressed a desire for me and his mom to be friends but, as things are right now, I don’t see that happening. Primero told me Esperanza has thawed her freeze-out of their mother and has begun talking to her and even plans on visiting with her. Primero had asked me about visiting his mom back in November and I had said yes, I just wanted to know when, where, and how. He never got back to me and we got busy with the holidays. When Primero told me about his sister making the trip, he made it sound like he had planned to go along. So, I talked with him about it and reminded him the offer was open, but I get the sense he didn’t want me to take him at all. He seemed to hope Mr. J or his uncle would take him and (yes I’m assuming) he didn’t seem to want me involved. I get the sense I wouldn’t be welcomed and I understand. After Primero ran off to see his mom without permission I told him for the foreseeable future, he could only visit with me or another trusted adult (his uncle and eldest brother are trusted adults). I did take him to see her during his younger sister’s birthday last September although it was a very brief meeting because it was so last-minute.

 

We have plans to see her this Saturday and I am nervous for the visit. His mother lives roughly 40 minutes from us in a neighboring county. We are going to pick her up and go to the local mall (one I used to go to when I was in college). I think we’ll have lunch together, walk the mall and then take her back home before we head back to pick up the little ones, since we only have respite for the afternoon (sigh). I spoke with Primero about expectations for the visit but he wasn’t very talkative or open to conversation about it. In the past when he has interacted with his mom and me simultaneously, he seems to get an attitude about it. I don’t know how to describe it other than he’s different. I’m guessing it’s just how he deals with the complicated feelings that all of this elicits. My hope is, that by having a more extended visit without other people present (I mean other family members, obviously there will be other people at the mall), we will be able to break out of the awkward stage and truly begin building a relationship. But, being the pessimistic optimist I am, I worry about all the ways the day can go wrong.

 

I guess suffice it to say my interactions with Primero’s mother have been complicated. Do I wish things were different? Yes. I wish there was more open communication but, as my therapist told me at our last session, it’s not possible to have a rational relationship with someone who isn’t healthy. It seems Primero’s mother might be in a better place, but for the previous times when I tried to reach out to her, she was not. So, our relationship (or lack thereof) is a work in progress.

 

I’ve had more success connecting with other family members in Primero’s biological family. I have a fairly good relationship with his older siblings. I have met all of Primero’s siblings, but I have only really gotten to know his three older siblings. Mr. J has spent time at our place on several occasions, just hanging out with Primero. He has been over for dinner a few times and him and his girlfriend have baby-sat the kids on occasion as well. I have always has a positive interaction with Mr. J. Esperanza is the next oldest and probably the sibling I have gotten to know the best. Sadly, things took a bad turn in February and I am now persona non grata with her. I have hope that this might change in the future, but it’s one of those things that only time will tell. Hermano is the third oldest and the sibling I have known the longest, since he used to attend visits with Primero’s mom. I have tried to maintain contact with Hermano’s foster families as he has floated around from place to place and I’m always open to having Hermano spend time at our place. Things were rocky with Hermano after the Christmas and New Year’s stunt, but we patched things up and all is well. He will be finding out if his first child is a boy or girl in a few more weeks and his girlfriend is due September 14^th. With Primero’s two younger sisters, contact has been very spotty. He has gone to visit his youngest sister only a few times and I don’t think they talk regularly. It’s strange, since her two younger half-brothers go to the same daycare as Love Bug and Chica Marie and I (foolishly) thought this might lead to more contact (you know, with her step-mom and her dad seeing us as normal people?), but that has not been the case. From my uneducated position, it seems they don’t really welcome much interaction from her mother’s side of the family, since the youngest sister doesn’t attend any family events. The second youngest sister travels a lot, spending time in Florida and NYC. I tried to take her along to an Ariana Grande concert with us last summer, but she ended up being in Florida and so we took Esperanza along instead. This sister asked to go along on our visit with his mom this weekend and I’m hesitant to take her along simply because I was hoping it would be more of an opportunity for her and I to get to know one another. But, I feel bad because Primero doesn’t get to hang out with his younger sisters, so she might end up going along just for that reason. In addition to his siblings, I also have a great relationship with his aunt and uncle  and I’m so glad for it. They were a great source of support when things got ugly with Esperanza and I truly appreciated their help. In a sense, adopting Primero has grown my family beyond just one son, but to all of these other people. Maybe his mom will be included in that group one day! I don’t know, but I leave the door open to it.

 

The first time I met Chica Marie and Love Bugs mom it was not a good meeting. It was a Friday and Love Bug had been with me since Monday. I had agreed to pick Chica Marie up at her foster home (she wasn’t living with us yet) and take her and Love Bug to their visit at the County Services Building in town. When we got there, their mom was sitting in a chair next to the elevator with a social worker who would be supervising the visit. Before we even got to her, the mom asked where Mini Momma was (she was going to a different foster home for respite and so not available for the visit) since she clearly wasn’t along with us (Primero was with me). I tried to explain but she interrupted me to complain about Love Bug being in a pink car seat (it was the only car seat I had – thankfully someone gave me a gray one which I’ve been using ever since). She was angry Mini Momma wasn’t there and it seemed she wasn’t going to have the visit without her older daughter. After a flurry of phone calls that no one answered (it was after 5 on a Friday!), the social worker took the mom and kids upstairs for the visit. For a long time after the first encounter, I faced the criticism and complaints of the kids mom before and after visits. It continued for months, honestly. Things started to change between us once Mini Momma began bouncing to different foster homes. It was then that their mom turned to me as a trusted foster parent while reviling the foster homes of Mini Momma. What did I do to get on her good graces? I listened. That’s it! She would start in on something and rather than deny it or try to tell her she was wrong (like sending home a raw egg for a young child to take care of?) I would just listen to her. I would try to make an effort to do the small things that bothered her but weren’t detrimental to the children. I made sure to put the kids in the clothing she would sometimes buy them (unless it was way too big, as it was sometimes for Love Bug – then I would wait until it fit him). I did my best to see past her thorny exterior and treat her like a human being. And I tried to never get into an argument with her because I honestly think that’s what she was looking for most of the time. There were a few occasions where I stood and talked to her for an hour or more after a visit ended. I haven’t seen her since court in June. When I spoke to the county case worker last week she told me how she mentioned to the kids mom she should start forging a relationship with me. I would welcome her to do so! I have a sort of working relationship with her mother, the kids grandmother. We share information sometimes and I think she will be open to having the kids get together as much as her work schedule permits. I’m hoping to keep these relationships moving in a positive direction.

 

What I know from my experience is that it sometimes can be difficult in creating a relationship with the biological family of the kids. These families are in crisis and so they aren’t always able to add being nice to foster parents to their list of things to do. I get that. Or at least I try to! It’s hard feeling like it’s me against them, when they continually nitpick at everything. I get why they do it – to make themselves feel better, look better. But, it can get tiring being the bigger person. Regardless, listening and trying to understand from their perspective goes a very long way in greasing the wheels of acceptance and open communication. I’m no expert and I have a lot to learn, but this is the growth I know I’ve made since beginning my journey as a foster parent.    

April Fool's Take 2

I wrote something short about April Fool’s Day and the propensity to see fake pregnancy announcements. Luckily, when I did sneak a peek at my Facebook page last Friday, I did not see anyone pulling this particular joke. I did see a friend or two who posted about how unfunny those announcements were, which I liked and commented on. Then, sadly, I came across an entertainment post by the local radio station which described how Gwen Stefani posted a fake ultrasound picture declaring “it’s a girl!” Stupidly, I read the comments and I was shocked at how many people ridiculed those offended by her “joke” telling the offended parties to lighten up, stop being offended for no reason, and basically get a life it’s just a joke. Er, no. I agree that it seems too many people get offended by too simple of things and it all gets blown up on social media. But, I disagree this is one of those things and here is why.

 

1. Ok, I can guess why Gwen might have posted such a thing. I’m not going to say I’m the most up-to-date on all things Hollywood, but I’m guessing there have been rumors or speculations she is expecting a child with her new beau, Blake Shelton. And, to mock these rumors, she posted a faux pregnancy announcement only to pull the “April Fool’s!” ruse. It’s immature. Regardless of the reason, it’s very adolescent. But, it is also not funny. I’m all for silly pranks to catch people off guard on April Fool’s Day. I do have a pretty good sense of humor and I think I also have a pretty high threshold for taking offense. But, there are some things that are simply not funny. Would it have been a funny joke for Gwen to announce she had cancer? Or AIDS? Who anyone have called naysayers thin skinned if she joked about having asthma or cataracts? Then why is it funny to joke about pregnancy and by default infertility? In my opinion, it is not funny. Not in the slightest.
2. Do you realize how prevalent infertility is in society today? According to Resolve 1 in 8 couples will have trouble getting pregnant or sustaining a pregnancy. Do you know at least 8 people, have at least 8 friends on Facebook? Then, chances are you know someone who is struggling with infertility, meaning they would give just about anything for a REAL pregnancy announcement. Do you think that makes a fake pregnancy announcement funny to them? On the website for Global Library of Women’s Medicine, infertility is listed as a life crisis with such losses as self-esteem, relationships, health, and financial security. Any of this sounding comical?
3. If it shocks you to learn that perhaps one or more of your friends is dealing with infertility, consider why that might be. Infertility often elicits a lot of shame and the desire to hide such devastating conditions from friends and even family. The quote from this article says it all, “Infertility is a shame-filled, silent trial, isolating couples in closed bedrooms of pain.” Really, it’s not funny at all when you look at it this way. And again, the chances of someone you know living with this condition is quite high, which means the fake pregnancy announcement will very likely cause pain to someone you know.
4. Sadly, fake pregnancy announcements are not the only insensitive things someone struggling with infertility might have to endure. There are all kinds of rude comments from suggesting adoption (this is not a cure for infertility) to implying the couple might not be good parents so God eliminated their chances – God doesn’t want you to have a baby. Some people try to say encouraging things, like “now you can sleep in! no sleepless nights with a newborn!” or mentioning you have more money (not if you’re going through infertility treatments!) and time to do the things you like, things you couldn’t do with a kid or two. It’s all hurtful! Would you suggest to a friend who lost a parent or other loved one, “hey, look at all the money you’ll save on mother’s day cards!” Um, no I certainly hope not.
5. There are a few prominent people and celebrities who have made their private infertility struggles public knowledge and many, many more who have not (and, of course, it’s their right to not share such private matters!). (here’s a good article on this matter) The take-away is two-fold, one being that infertility is indiscriminate and can happen to anyone and two, there is a stigma to it that even celebrities avoid airing such “dirty laundry.” Of course, the one thing celebrities have that many other infertile couples do not have is near-limitless money to throw at the problem. On my own infertility journey further infertility treatments were halted due to the financial burden to “try” to get pregnant. My insurance, although a good insurance plan, did not cover any infertility treatments. Infertility is a health condition, one that affects every aspect of your life, and yet many insurance plans cover little to no treatments. Birth control is covered, a vasectomy, tubal ligation – all covered but infertility treatments, you’re on your own.

 

Like so many things in life, if you haven’t lived it, you can’t understand the pain of infertility. While I do worry about people getting all twisted up about trivial things then blowing it out of proportion on social media, that doesn’t mean there aren’t valid reasons to being offended. Instead of worrying about who’s taking offense, wouldn’t it be nicer if we all worried about being the most compassionate human being we could be? I think it might make the world a nicer place, but then I’m probably too thin skinned.