Oh Happy Day!

As March was winding down and the beginning of April was looming before us, it occurred to me that the promise of a date for finalization was met with more uncertainty. More than anything, I didn’t want to see Love Bug turn 4 and still be in foster care limbo. I was starting to freak out, to be honest. So, I emailed the CHOR adoption case worker earlier this week to see what was holding up the case. I was extra worried because our CHOR case worker had asked me to sign a release for the county case worker to speak to the filial therapist, and well, I don’t think she would give the most glowing report. My anxiety was heightened, to say the least. Fortunately, the CHOR adoption case worker responded to me explaining she needed to review our entire file with her supervisor, who had been out of the office on vacation for two weeks. I took a tiny sigh of relief, but I was still anxious to get a date and finally be done with this marathon case.

 

Two days after I emailed the CHOR adoption case worker, she called me. She had just been to see the lawyer and the paralegal said they were holding the date of April 11^th for adoptions and so we should expect to be on the list for 1:30 in the afternoon. I will get paperwork confirming this date and time, but I was just so excited I could barely contain myself. I had to tell EVERYONE! So, I posted on Instagram and Facebook and then text people like the family therapists, the TSS, the former mobile therapist, my family and a few friends. Most people sent me words of congratulations. My mom said, “ok.” I’m trying to not let her Debbie Downer response ruin my joy because this has been such a long time coming.

 

When I picked up the kids at daycare, I shared our news with the daycare staff and the kids of course. When I told Love Bug he was getting adopted and we would all be a forever family, his response was, “You, me, Primero, Chica Marie, we family for ever and ever and ever.” Stretching his arms wide to show the length of time. Chica Marie had a more subdued response, mostly because she was mad at Love Bug for not sharing his candy-filled Easter eggs with her. Primero is mostly excited about missing a day of school (although, technically he could go in the morning). Ironically, I just finished signing all the yearly update paperwork for the daycare, so in a few weeks I will have to redo all of it, but it is so worth it. Our time has finally come! Oh happy day!  

Playing in Mud

At our last filial therapy session, Chica Marie was having some big feelings about the upcoming adoption. Her declaration sort of derailed the conversation her therapist and I were having, but I’m sort of glad it did. Not that I wanted to hear Chica Marie say the things she said, I was just feeling frustrated by the therapist. Again. Previously, I felt belittled because I claimed it wasn’t convenient to rework our evening routine in regards to the dishes and Chica Marie’s homework. The therapist basically equated my reluctance to not wash dishes after dinner to not giving Chica Marie what she needed, thus making me an unfit mother for her. Great. At the latest session Chica Marie was a boundless ball of energy, literally bouncing around the room, flopping onto a large stuffed bear she put on the floor, flinging herself onto the couch and not remaining still for even a second. She was so agitated that I felt her energy vibrating in myself. In response to the therapists comment about her energy, I mentioned how anxious I was to have the kids go outside and play, once the weather improved and the backyard dried out a bit. The therapist commented how the children would like to play in the mud and I said, um no. “But, they would really like it and it helps to get their energy out,” she persisted, incredulous that I would not let the children play in our muddy back yard. “Listen, I practically need a Xanax to put the dogs out in the back yard,” I joked. By the tone in her voice and the look on her face, I understood the therapist was once again judging my mothering capabilities. Because, it would seem, a good mother would let her children slop in the muddy back yard. I felt the need to defend myself, “I have a hard enough time keeping up with the regular household chores, I just don’t need to deal with an extra mess. We can go to the playground a few blocks from home or just wait in until the mud dries up.” She did not seem placated by my assertion that I do take the children outside and I was getting more upset by the moment. It’s not that I have a problem with children playing in the mud; I grew up on a farm and mud was synonymous with Spring. The difference is, my mom had a door right by her laundry room, so she could usher her little mudballs into the laundry room, strip us of our dirty clothes and her house remained mud-free. I don’t have that luxury. The back door opens into our kitchen and the mud quickly spreads throughout the entire house before I can say, “Wait!” Plus, we could leave our shoes outside at my mother’s place, they had a nice big porch with plenty of room. If the dogs didn’t eat the shoes, they would surely knock them down off the porch at our place. Do I ever let the children play in mud? Of course! In the summer when I can hose them off or strip their clothes off outside. So, if I’m a bad mother because I don’t let my children slop in the mud in the middle of March, so be it. Unless you’re offering to come clean my house, keep your judgmental opinions to yourself. What kind of therapist makes you feel like a bad parent for not letting your kids drag mud into the house? I feel the need to call her and report the children were playing outside yesterday while I was staining new wooden cartons I bought to store their toys. They were in the front of the house, on the sidewalk, throwing some of the leftover snow at one another. No mud.    

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Miss Movin' On

Esperanza text me over the weekend, saying she had something to tell me and Primero but she didn’t know how to say it. Turns out, she decided to move to upstate New York with her boyfriend and his family. They are originally from the area and are moving back because the boyfriends mom thinks it will be easier to find housing. Primero and I talked about it and both have reservations but we haven’t expressed that to Esperanza. We agreed it was best to just support her, even if it did seem at times like she wanted us to talk her out of it. She believes moving away will help her get her life together. From our home, upstate New York is like a five-to-six hour trek. My worry is how far away she will be if something goes sideways and she needs support. She knows no one in the area, except her boyfriend’s family. None of her family could get to her easily. I respect the fact that she wants to “grow up” as she told Primero, but I’m not really convinced she needs to go so far away to make that happen. Primero is already mourning her moving, noting it will be harder to stay in touch and not so simple to just pop over and see her. Still, he supports her and we both wish her the best.

Looming Adoption

As a parent you want to trust your child, you want to take them at their word and act on what they say, if necessary. I want that too. But, which Chica Marie it’s more complicated than that. And I feel like a terrible mother to say that, to say I don’t trust what she tells me the majority of the time. I don’t always take what she says seriously. Because too often she has not spoken the truth, too often she has said something just to get the spotlight on her. I don’t want to miss something important, I don’t want to not hear her when she really needs me to step in and help her. It’s sad to always be so suspicious, to never fully believe.

 

At a therapy session last night, when asked about the impending adoption,  Chica Marie responded she would throw herself from the car on the way to the adoption then promptly shut-down and refused to talk about it. She was very agitated the entire session, even leaving the room a few times. The filial therapist took her statement seriously and admonished me to do the same. We developed a safety plan, which included finding an individual (trauma-informed) therapist for Chica Marie. The therapist made a comment along the lines of wanting to get Chica Marie on board for the adoption. But, the last time I spoke to Chica Marie about it, she was on board. And she had never made threats of self-harm before, at least not in my presence.

 

I don’t even know how to make heads nor tails of this. I understand how the looming adoption can be a cause of fear, uncertainty, even anger for Chica Marie. Primero, who was 16 when he was adopted, acted out as his adoption was closing in, and he definitely had a say in the outcome. The therapist suggested I not talk to Chica Marie about adoption without a mental health professional present, lest our conversation trigger her. If she brings it up we can discuss it but Chica Marie is not one to talk about her feelings. I feel nothing but precarious eggshells all around me, fearing setting off an avalanche I’m unable to stop. And while I support the idea of Chica Marie getting a therapist, I don’t know how quickly that would happen or if her insurance would cover it given the Family Based therapy and psychiatrist are paid through her insurance. It’s something I’m going to have to figure out. In the meantime, I’ve notified all the therapy staff who work with Chica Marie, so they can be prepared and I’ve notified both the CHOR and county case workers.

 

Will this be resolved before the adoption? Could this hold up the adoption? Would the adoption itself be a resolution? I have many more questions than answers.

Ten

So, Primero’s friend who is pregnant, the one we bought the pregnancy test for, her mother finally found out this past weekend that she is expecting. It was a very big, drama-filled ordeal. I, for one, am glad her mother finally found out so this young lady can see a doctor and make sure she is healthy. It’s sounding like she won’t be getting the abortion she had been talking about, but I don’t know anything other than the big fat mess she is in and how immature both her and the father-to-be are acting. Lovely. In addition to these two teenage parents-to-be, Primero has shared that he gave the left-over pregnancy test (why this boy bought a pack of three was beyond me, but there you go) to a different friend because his girlfriend might be pregnant. This friend’s sister was just sent away (they still do that?!?) because the family found out she was pregnant by a friend considered a brother. If you’ve lost count that’s a total of 3 accidental teenage pregnancies. Esperanza’s friend is due any moment, their cousin just had her baby shower over the weekend and both of Esperanza’s sisters (on her father’s side) are expecting. Four babies coming into the world with parents barely scraping by. And, as reported by Esperanza and Primero, Hermano’s girlfriend is expecting his second child, her first, I believe. Plus, two of the little one’s older siblings are expecting – one of their oldest brothers and one of their twin sister’s. That’s a grand total of 10 babies with the oldest momma being just 22 years young. Obviously, from a social-societal perspective one would like to know impending parents are prepared for their offspring. Supposedly teenage pregnancy is declining, so maybe our little area of the world in an anomaly, but there are 20 young lives about the be changed forever and all I can think is, I’m so glad it’s not my kid making me a very young grandmother!  It does spur on various conversations with Primero regarding, not just preventing unwanted pregnancy, but also STD’s and other relationship issues. And, sadly, I’ve begun having age-appropriate conversations with Chica Marie about waiting to date and have a baby. It occurred to me that all too soon I will be having the period talk with her because girls as young as 8 have started their periods and she needs to be prepared. I can’t use my own age as a gauge for her because we are not biologically related and I can’t ask her mother because we have no contact (by her mother’s choice). Asking her sister seems inappropriate, although I might be able to ask her grandmother. Regardless, I feel like this season of babies could just be the tip of the iceberg unless things drastically change by the time the little ones reach their teenage years. Lord have mercy!

Have Breakfast with Me

For all the bad press the age of 2 gets, I’m finding three has been more of a challenge. Sure, at two Love Bug would dramatically fling himself to the floor, but his last stand usually didn’t last too long and we could get on with our lives. Now, he is a threenager, with all the sass and great big opinions but very little control over what actually happens. Lately, he became so tyrannical I took to calling him the names of historical dictators. “Excuse me, Stalin, but I will not turn on the TV right now.” “Calm down Fidel, I’m mixing your chocolate milk right now.” Of course, he doesn’t understand but I get a kick out of it. Fortunately, all is not bleak demands of a threenager tyrant. Most mornings I eat my scrambled eggs standing at the kitchen counter because I’m always running off to do something else, so why bother sitting down? One morning last week, as he was eating his oatmeal, Love Bug says to me, “Sit down Mommy and have breakfast with me. You should sit and rest.” I just about made my eggs soggy, tears filling my eyes. Such a simple gesture, but said so sweetly and emphatically (he would not take any of my excuses), it warmed my heart.

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Fleeting Moments

I’m not sure if it was my nostalgia or Primero’s but one night last week when we were watching TV together, he shoved a pillow onto my lap and flopped on top of it for me to run my fingers through his hair. When he had first moved in with me, before Love Bug came and Chica Marie moved in, this was almost a nightly ritual for us – snuggling on the couch, watching TV, wrapping my fingers around Primero’s luxurious curls. I don’t really know when we stopped doing it or why, but we hadn’t cuddled like that in quite some time. Growing up can be tough; I remember those moments when I still wanted to do some childish thing but felt I was “too old” to do it. For me, having younger siblings helped because I could make the excuse that I was doing it for them. For Primero, most of his teenage years were spent trying to get attached to a new family (me) while also trying to be a “normal” teen and separate and explore. For the most part, he seemed to be in a hurry to grow up. We had some growing pains just before and just after he turned 18. But, now he seems to be settling into this new “adult” role. I think he understands I’m not going anywhere and while I do want him to be making his own decisions he still needs to remain respectful to the household rules and I will hold him accountable for the outcome of his decisions. His new adulthood status hasn’t been easy for me either – letting go when I finally feel like I’ve got a grasp on things results in a lot of internal wars with myself. So, I was gleefully satisfied when Primero plopped his head on my lap because I cherish all the moments we’ve had together and I will soak them up every chance that I get.  

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I Don't Pee When I Sneeze

Last week there was a baby shower for one of our co-workers. The third shower at work since October. I did not attend. My co-worker friend, who also did not attend, told me later in the day one of the supervisors came around to see why a lot of people from our area in the building didn’t attend (the pregnant co-worker is on a different team so we don’t interact much, which is why my friend didn’t attend the shower). This is the same supervisor who was sort of prying when I skipped out on the first baby shower back in the fall. She is now asking her team (she isn’t my supervisor but I work in close proximity with her team) who skipped the shower and me and my co-worker friend to chip in for a gift because we all missed the baby shower. Really? So, apparently baby showers are a mandatory function around here? I really hope no one else gets pregnant because I just don’t have it in me to attend a baby shower anytime soon.

 

Just a week after one co-worker left for the birth of her baby, a co-worker out on maternity leave came back to work. Her return was heralded by a cubicle decorated with balloons filled with confetti and streamers. I don’t know why it annoyed me as much as it did, but yeah, it bugged me. It’s not enough to have a baby shower, a brand new baby, but now a welcome back party? I guess some of it is because there was literally no fanfare when I became a mother. Adopting a teenager is nothing to party about….

 

“I’ve gone through childbirth, I can do anything.” This was uttered by a co-worker about to go on medical leave for an elective surgery. It was on the heels of talking with the new mom about issues with their bodies following child birth.  Meh, I have three kids and I don’t pee when I sneeze, so suck it you fertile bitches. I’m just in a really snarky mood today, apparently….  

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What I Really, Really Want

I made a decision. I sat with the pain for two days, struggling to make the whole thing make sense. Wednesday night was my first yoga class and I think all the twisting and bending broke the damn inside me and I began making peace with my decision. I knew, no matter what I chose, it wasn’t going to be what I really wanted. What I really wanted was both things, but that just wasn’t possible. So, I’ve chosen to walk away from this potential relationship. I know, at some future point, if I had kept going, trying to push myself to be ok with his choice, I would grow to resent him and the relationship would be ruined. I let him know of my decision and began mourning this loss. I liked him, I really did. We have similar humor, we get along very well and really enjoy one another’s company. And the sex – yes, please! All the passion missing from my last relationship came rushing into this one. Walking away from that is not easy. It hurts like hell. I just keep reminding myself that I need to hold onto what this brief relationship has taught me and that is, I can feel this passion again. It’s something that has been missing from every subsequent relationship since my marriage to Flaco. I honestly was beginning to think it was me, that I was so broken from that past relationship fail I could no longer feel the butterflies of excitement when someone kissed me. So, I’m glad to know that isn’t true. Now the question is, will I ever find that again? I won’t try online dating because it just never worked out for me. In my regular, every-day life I don’t generally meet kind, family-oriented, single men. The likelihood of finding that someone for me seems pretty slim-to-none, which also makes giving up on the current guy so poignant. Am I making a huge mistake? That’s a distinct possibility, but I guess there’s no turning back now. This too shall pass…….

Run, Hide, or Fight

This week at Primero’s school there has been a lot of talk about safety during a school shooting. He goes to the charter school and not the district high school, which has a strong police presence due to frequent and large fights. Sadly, a school shooting doesn’t seem totally out of the realm of possibilities. Supposedly, the school is planning on staging a fake scenario in which each classroom will have to decide to flee, hide or fight. The school had an assembly explaining how each classroom might decide on what course of action to take. Primero, in his teenage hubris, found the whole thing ludicrous and not worth his attention. He described it as a knee-jerk reaction to what happened in Florida. I begged him to reconsider. I had a nightmare just after the news of the school shooting in Florida in which I was trying desperately to get to Primero’s school to find him following the announcement of a school shooting. It  was too scarily realistic.

 

The security guards at his school have started checking all bags coming into the building each morning. There has been talk about installing a metal detector. I haven’t heard of any suggestions to arm staff, thankfully. Yet, I worry like so many other American parents. I worry because no one has any realistic game plan to stop this atrocity from happening again. I grew up around guns on the farm. My father had and still has many guns. My grandparents had a rifle or two. From as young as I can remember my father was very strict about how the guns were handled and who was allowed to touch them. If we wanted, he would teach us how to shoot the guns but we were never permitted to touch them on our own. His guns were kept unloaded with the bullets locked away separately. A few years ago, after completing a gun safety course, my mom got a permit to carry a concealed weapon – I’m not really sure why. I do not own a gun. Even though the city I live in has a higher-than-average crime rate, I have never felt so unsafe to think I might want a gun in my home. On the farm, it was a necessary tool. In my house it would be more of a concern than anything else. Plus, on the one occasion I shot a gun with my father I hated it. I hated the noise, I hated how it kicked and I hated how it scared me. Personally, and I’m no expert by any stretch of the imagination, I think the rancorous arguments about guns is the wrong discussion to be talking about regarding school shootings. I’m not saying the gun argument isn’t a valid one, I just think it misses some of the point when it comes to school shootings. As many people have pointed out before me, the lack of quality, available mental health assistance in our country is closer to the heart of the matter. I think the culture of bullying is also something that needs to be part of the discussion and eventual solution. I just don’t understand what makes someone pick up a gun and use it to kill another human being. How did human life become so devalued?

 

Not only is it a risk to send students to school, where a mass shooting might occur, but so many other arenas have been sites of causalities due to a deranged gunman – churches/religious buildings, movie theatres, outdoor concerts, dance clubs, political rallies – it seems the only place to go to not experience a mass shooting is home! I have no answers, I can offer no solutions. Might stricter gun laws impede those bent on such destruction? Perhaps. But, if someone has that level of hatred in their heart, if they have such a disregard for human life, would that really stop them? I don’t know. Personally, I don’t think arming myself would make much difference, nor do I believe it is the job of any teacher at any school to be trained to take down a gunman in an active shooter situation. I think, in my limited understanding, the solution is something that comes long before a person walks into a school building guns a-blazing. Because at that point, there is no helping them.    

Babies Can Wait

I had another conversation with Chica Marie regarding her older sister’s (supposed) pregnancy. It’s a fine line to walk when talking about it because I’m not trying to shame her sister but at the same time I don’t want Chica Marie thinking teenage pregnancy is cool. So, we focused on talking about the things her sister couldn’t do with a baby, like hang out with her friends anytime she wanted, or go to “grown up” parties (meaning, not kid parties because Chica Marie argued her sister could bring the baby to her birthday party). We talked about how her sister would need to get a job to pay for diapers and formula and clothing for the baby. And, we talked about how much different things would be if her sister waited until she had her own place and was in a stable relationship so she would have a partner helping her with the baby. A lot of it was conjecture, since I don’t really know her situation and maybe she already has a job and someone helping with the baby. Mostly, I just wanted to impress upon Chica Marie how babies are a treasure but that having one can wait until you are really ready. And I explained ready as being out of school, having your own place, and a decent paying job in addition to a stable, loving relationship (is it too much to hope for marriage before baby?). I’m not sure if I got through to her and, really, this isn’t a once and done conversation. It will certainly come back up as she gets older and begins to understand biology and human anatomy. I’m sure the period talk (which I feel is looming because girls as young as 8 can get their period) will bring up the whole baby-thing. And, of course, when we actually talk about sex preventing an unwanted pregnancy will be a big part of the conversation (along with a lot of other safety issues, including coercion and unwanted sexual attention). After her bath and our conversation Chica Marie informed me she wanted 7 kids all with names beginning with R and she listed the names. I’m not sure she took our conversation as seriously as I did, so we will just have to keep talking as the subject comes up.

The Impossible Dream

I’m in such a funk lately. Well, since the guy I’m seeing, the one where we are having a lot of fun together and where there is potential I had given up on, since he told me of his impending vasectomy surgery. There is a lot for me to unpack with this, some stuff that surprises me even. My initial reaction was sadness and near uncontrollable tears. How silly is that? It’s not like I expected we would be able to have a baby together; it isn’t even something on my radar since we just started this whatever it is (dating?). And, even if I did think at some point later in the future, we would have a child together is it nearly impossible, especially not as a happy accident. I’m infertile. Changing partners doesn’t change that. So, I hid in the bathroom and cried my tears most of the evening after he told me. He guessed something was wrong, even through text messaging, and so slowly we began talking about it. As we talked it became apparent his mind was made up, his decision was final and he put it on me to conform or move along. It made me mad, this unfair ultimatum. Even my question about a fictitious future sibling of Chica Marie and Love Bug’s entering care was countered by a “consideration” and not an affirmative. Done is done in his book. I asked for time to really think this through because I don’t want to make a decision based on a knee-jerk reaction.

 

My co-worker friend thinks I’ll regret giving up on a good thing for a dream. In her own experience she was with a man who didn’t want children and she did so she left him only to find herself single and childless a few months shy of her 40^th birthday. I get it. It does seem petty almost to throw away a relationship that has potential. It's not like good guys are a dime a dozen, or like I have multiple suitors breaking down my door. But, if we don’t want the same things in our lives how will the relationship be successful? What if I grow to loathe him for dealing the final death blow on biological children? Why can his decision be firm and mine must be flexible?

 

My sister thinks I should just keep having fun with him and to hell with all the other stuff. I think that would only make it harder when I really get the baby fever and he thinks it’s a done deal, do not pass go do not collect $200. Basically, the decision boils down to – do I want to be with someone but potentially unfulfilled in feeling like my family is incomplete and definitively put to rest the magical miracle pregnancy or do I want to be alone and free to adopt or foster again in the future? I am stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place because in whatever option I choose I lose something. Maybe it isn’t possible to achieve 100% happiness, maybe a basic 80% is all I can realistically get? And hey, 80% is still a solid B, right? Am I being selfish, thinking I deserve any more than what I've got?

 

I keep waffling back and forth, trying to convince myself to make a decision and stick with it. I try to envision my life in either scenario and the only thing I come up with is the unfairness of life. Life is wholly, unabashedly unfair. I have made no decision at this point and he hasn’t pressed me for one, either. I might be foolish about all of this, but it feels like a very big decision, one I don’t think I’ll ever look back on and be 100% satisfied with what I chose. This blows.