Invasion of Privacy

It was bound to happen at some point in time. I guess we were lulled into a false sense of security because most people in our circle know the story about how we are a transracial family. But, with Chica Marie being a cheerleading with girls from other elementary schools in the district, we are an anomaly. After practice one night, while I was doing her hair after her bath, Chica Marie explained to me she was upset because another little girl interrogated her about having a white mommy. Chica Marie at first just said, “Yes, that’s my mommy but I came from my other mommy’s tummy.” She didn’t want to share anything more but the other little girl kept trying to pry information out of her until eventually Chica Marie caved to peer pressure. What upset her the most was how the other little girl turned right around and shared this information with the rest of the team, making Chica Marie feel out-of-place and singled out. And it broke my heart.

 

Often times, at school and at daycare, Chica Marie seems flippant about being adopted. I think, for the most part, everyone around her just kind of gets it because they were around for the finalization in April. The adults understand what occurred and can act as buffers for Chica Marie if some of the kids get too nosey. But, with new experiences and new people, her story is not known as it is with people already in the know. This makes her a curiosity. And no kid wants to stand out in a weird way, or be scrutinized because something about them is different. It is othering and uncomfortable. Not to mention her story comes with a lot of heartache and loss, not something she wants to just chit-chat about. So, I gently told Chica Marie she did not owe anyone her story, it was hers and she had the right to tell it or not tell it as she wants and when she wants. She responded, “But the girl kept asking me!” It distressed her that the other cheerleader wouldn’t just take the simple response and let it go. So, I developed a plan with Chica Marie, if that were to happen again, and I was there she would just need to come up to me and say our code word “Grilled cheese” and I would take care of it. If I wasn’t there, I instructed Chica Marie to go to a trusted adult and say, “This girl keeps asking me personal questions and I don’t want to answer them. Could you please ask her to stop?” Chica Marie felt this was a do-able plan. But, the hurt from the night was still fresh and raw. I asked her if she would like me to talk to the girl and her parents and she nodded. So, I will try to speak to them at the game on Saturday, in hopes that they will understand and be more sensitive going forward.

 

I don’t want Chica Marie to feel ashamed of her story or her adoption, but I also don’t want her to feel like she needs to tell everyone all about herself just because she is adopted. It isn’t easy to find that balance, but I am always open to talking to any of the children about it. Primero is very free with his story. Love Bug is really too young to know much about it, but he does sometimes declare, “I’m adopted. Right Mommy, I was adopted?” Chica Marie is somewhere in between her brothers. On the one hand she told a grocery store cashier about her impending adoption, but on the other she was upset about it being made into a big deal at cheerleading practice. The difference is probably in how the information was received. The insensitivity of the girl sharing very personal information like it was just gossip fodder was painful. Chica Marie did not ask to be adopted. It is something that happened to her and she had to endure the loss of her mother and original family to be meshed into another family. Adoption is not simple and should never be treated as such because it does such a disserve to all that happens in the process. Adoption is not a transaction, it is a loss. Yes, beauty can arise from those ashes, but only if all of the story is embraced, the happy and the sad.

 

Mostly, I hope Chica Marie is able to understand how to talk to pushy people because this girl may have been the first but she will not be the last person to demand to know intimate details of her life. I want the other family to understand we are just a regular family like any other. Yes, how we came to be a family might be different, but beyond that we are the same. And no one wants their greatest pain splashed before the world for criticism and critique. I also want Chica Marie to know I am always, always willing to go to bat for her; I am always willing to step in for her if she needs me. And she should never feel like she can’t talk to me about the painful parts of adoption. I might not understand it in the way she does, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try and it doesn’t mean I won’t be there to listen regardless. More than the boys do, I think Chica Marie is sensitive to how I might feel hearing she misses her mom or wishes she hadn’t been adopted or any of the other negative things about what has happened to her. I want her to know I can take it, I can listen with an open mind and heart and it won’t break me to hear it all. I hope someday she will trust me with it all. In the meantime, I have a date with a certain cheerleader.   

Messy Triad

 Earlier in the day on Sunday, Primero received a call from his mom. She was having trouble breathing and, from what I gather, wanted him to pick her up and take her to the hospital. Only, we were out looking for bedding and curtains for my bedroom. So, he suggested she call his older brother Mr J. Later, after returning home and eating dinner, Primero and I were painting the ceiling in my bedroom when his mom called to video chat. I was annoyed because we were busy and didn’t need an interruption, but Primero continued on with the task at hand. His mom, between coughing fits and berating the nursing staff, directed Primero on how to paint. At one point, the angel of the phone allowed her to see into my closet and of course she commented on all the shoes I have. It irritated me because it felt like an invasion of my privacy. I gritted my teeth and kept working. A few minutes later, Primero and I were giggling about something he said or did (I honestly don’t remember) and his mom abruptly ended the call. I suggested the call got dropped or perhaps a doctor had entered the room to talk to her. Primero didn’t think that was the case and his suspicions were later confirmed when his mom text him, “I didn’t want to interrupt family time.”

“It seems seeing us getting along made her feel some type of way,” Primero told me. I scoffed at the sentiment, “I didn’t know painting the ceiling was family time.” And make some other comment about her judgment on the amount of shoes I own (of which she only saw a fraction).  Primero then got upset and said he couldn’t bother with either one of us because we always got upset about something. Luckily, his mom was discharged from the hospital later that evening. Her asthma and smoking seemed to aggravate the bronchitis she didn’t know she had and so with a breathing treatment and some antibiotics she would be fine. As for the messy triad we represent, there’s lots of room for improvement….

Imperfect Perfectionism

This past weekend I painted my bedroom. It sounds like a minor thing, but my bedroom was the only room in the house that has never been painted. My ex-husband painted our bathroom, living room, kitchen and what is now Chica Marie’s bedroom but we could never agree on a color for our bedroom. So, it stayed white. Even after he left, I didn’t paint it. I’m not sure why I didn’t, I just never made it a priority. I lived with the primer white walls for a long time; twelve years to be exact. So, after completing the bathroom project I was anxious to begin painting my bedroom. I chose a plum-mauve purple color, moved things out of my room, taped around the ceiling and trim and painted all day on Saturday. I completed the job the same day and was mostly content with how it looked. I’m not the greatest painter and a lot of the tape was not straight so the lines are not crisp as I would like them to be and my perfectionism reared it’s ugly head. I am displeased with how my room turned out because when I look at it all I see are my mistakes. The issue is compounded by not being able to find new bedding and curtains to my liking, so the room is unfinished. As if that wasn’t enough, I asked Primero to help paint the ceiling because I could not reach it and well, he didn’t take the same care I would have while painting so some of my furniture has new white freckles and there are unpainted spots on the ceiling. He also managed to get white smudges on the newly painted walls in various places. The whole thing makes me cringe, to be honest. My perfectionism rearing it’s ugly head. I keep trying to tell myself it’s a work in progress, that all the things I see as mistakes and errors can be fixed. I’m just not so sure I have the ability to fix things. Maybe if I use a ruler instead of the stupid tape? A smaller brush and get a ladder that makes reaching the ceiling easier? I don’t know. I’m just massively disappointed at the moment because the picture in my mind’s eye is not coming to fruition. Mostly, I wish I had just let it go. White walls aren’t all that bad, right?  

Not My Child

One of my coworkers recently enrolled her three year old daughter in daycare for the first time. Previously, her daughter had been cared for by family members and was the only young child in their care. Since starting daycare, her daughter has been bitten twice. Both times she complained loudly to other coworkers about how upset she was and how the daycare shouldn’t let that happen and should be more strict with the children, etc. My blood boils as I listen to her act like her daughter is a little saint and the other children must be devilish heathens to have bitten her innocent angel. First of all, toddlers bite. It’s kind of their thing. Second of all, you were not there and you do not know what instigated the incident. No, your child should not be bitten but I highly doubt she is being “targeted” as this mother insists. This is her only child and she does not have plans to have another, so maybe she does not realize how common it is for young children to bite one another. It’s a way of communicating that adults need to monitor and intervene, but it is not generally vindictive. This morning I overheard this mother proudly telling other coworkers that she told her daughter to scream and push the child away before she is bitten again. There is probably some underlying issue going on, but this mom is not interested in learning that dynamic. She just wants to villainize the other child and make sure her daughter never has any negative interactions. I’m not condoning biting, but Love Bug had a few biting incidents in daycare because his verbal skills were lacking. He needed to be taught words to use instead of using his teeth. I would have been very upset if I had overheard this couple’s berating the daycare because my evil child was targeting their perfect daughter.

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Cash Cow

Years ago I remember reading on an adoption online forum about an adoptive couple struggling with defining boundaries to their child’s mother regarding financial assistance. This was after the adoption so there wasn’t any legal counsel or adoption agency negotiating on their behalf, it was just the couple trying to figure out how to help. I read it with a leery eye, thinking it wasn’t the adoptive couple’s responsibility to financially support their child’s mother. It’s easy to say that from an outside perspective yet, when the shoe is on the other foot the gray areas become apparent.

 

Last spring I discovered via a Facebook post, that Primero’s aunt’s cousin lost everything in a house fire. The post asked if anyone had girls’ clothing and it just so happened I did. So, I agreed to take the clothes to his aunt’s place. It was the first time she and I met in person. We had been friends on Facebook and spoke via messenger for quite some time, but we never met in person. About a month after I dropped off the clothing his aunt contacted me stating she needed to take her daughter to a hospital over an hour away. They would ride the bus because she doesn’t drive and doesn’t have a car. The trip would take all day because of the bus schedule. She was in a panic because, after paying for the bus fare, she had no money to buy them lunch. Could I, would I lend her $20 so they could eat? Sure. I mean, it’s only $20 and it would be such a long, long day with no lunch. I dropped the money off and she was grateful. Little did I know, my willingness to help her out would snowball.

 

The $20 I loaned her soon ballooned to $60 and  pack of cigarettes (I don’t smoke) and still she kept asking for handouts and an ever increasing pace. The last time I gave her money was when we were giving her and her daughter a ride to the local hospital. And I refused to stop and buy her cigarettes as well. Not long after that we had a plumbing issue. I asked her for the loaned money back and she claimed to not have it. I let it go, but refuse to give her any more money. Don’t loan what you can’t afford to lose, right?

 

I know certain members of Primero’s family see me as rich because I have a home and nice things. But, we pinch pennies and I do mathematic acrobatics to keep us going. Are we better off than some of them? Yes, we are. But, I cannot support us and everyone else as well. Yesterday Primero text me because his oldest brother, Mr J, had asked to borrow money. I didn’t have it to lend so I had to say no, but it’s hard being seen as a cash cow (I don’t think his brother sees me this way, but other family members do) especially when the reality is that we struggle to get the things we have.

Sleeping Alone

My cousin’s wife posted on Facebook seeking advice to get her 10 month daughter to sleep in her own crib and not their bed. She made the mistake of allowing her daughter into her bed and is now struggling to get her back out. I joked with her to share the advice with me because my four year old Love Bug still sleeps with me every night. Long ago I gave up on convincing him to stay in his own bed. He slept in his own bed in my bedroom for three years. It didn’t matter, he still woke up and climbed into my bed. I thought moving him to a different room would discourage his nightly migration, but it has not. He likes snuggling when he sleeps. He won’t fall asleep unless I lay next to him. He views my bed as his own. I know, at some point in time, he will stop wanting to sleep in my bed and stay in his own. I joked, in my Facebook post, I will remember this time when he is a teenager and hates me. I think my Love Bug just needs the comfort of feeling someone sleeping next to him. He reaches out in his sleep, to feel for me, to grab my arm or my hand and pull it towards himself. He likes to sleep on my arm or my hand or sometimes lying totally on top of me, his head resting on my chest.

 

Others suggested the cry it out method on their response to the above post. There was one time, when he was about 10 months old, I tried to let Love Bug cry it out. It was the fourth time he woke up in the night, just before dusk. I was exhausted and wanted just a few more minutes of sleep. I tried to calm him down and then I left, but he would not be placated, he wanted to be with me. Still, I kept insisting he learn to sleep alone. This went on for what felt like days, but was probably only 30 minutes. In the end, I did not get anymore sleep, instead I had a very nervous and upset Love Bug who took a long time to settle down and release his vice-grip on my neck. In other words, I only made him more hyperviligent about waiting for me to leave him alone in his bed. I’m sure someone could tell me I didn’t do it right, but for this little guy there was no crying it out. He needed to feel safe and if that meant being with me, in my bed, then so be it. I think once he was 18 months old I gave up trying to let him fall asleep in my bed and then move him back to his bed. He would always come back and it just made me tired and grumpy. Technically, the foster care rules do not allow children to sleep with their foster parents. That just didn’t work for my little boy. I guess it’s a good thing I’m single, because Love Bug needs that space in my bed. I believe, like so many things when it comes to parenting, each family and even each child within the same family, will make choices for what is right for them to meet their unique individual needs. I won’t say I was a big proponent either way, but I have definitely softened on co-sleeping.

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Awkwardness

Open adoption does not get easier with time, you just adjust to living with the discomfort and awkwardness it brings into your life. Maybe not every adoptive parent feels this way, but I do. It isn’t easy for me to constantly set aside my own desires, my comfort and personal preference to be the bigger person and not selfishly isolate. It is hard to remain open to and with someone who you don’t share many or any of the same beliefs or moral codes or have anything but one very important person in common. I try to be gracious but I don’t think I always am. I try to be understanding but it gets tiring to see someone continually follow the same damaging pattern. I try to remain open but sometimes I just don’t want to do it anymore. Yet, I do. I am committed to open adoption even when it causes me to feel a lot of stress.

 

Last night, I had just laid down with Love Bug to get him to sleep when Primero popped into the room. His mom, who had been staying in town to be near her ailing father who signed himself out of the hospital Wednesday night, wasn’t getting along with people where she was staying and she needed a place to go. Story of her life. So, of course she calls Primero. He picked her up and brought her to our house. I told him she would need to leave the house when we did the next morning and that he couldn’t stay up all night, he needed to sleep to be ready for school. The three of us sat awkwardly in the living room trying to watch the first episode of American Horror Story, which his mom talked over so I missed key points. I don’t actually care because I don’t like the gruesome show, I only watch it with Primero to give us something to do together. Still, it bugs me to miss salient parts that I know will reappear. When I text Primero about his mom talking and me missing things, he got defensive. Never mind I had to sit in my own living room and hear him call her Mom a thousand times while my soul died, I can’t express annoyance at someone talking over a show.

 

And that’s the rub, I suppose. Primero shows obvious deferential treatment to his mom while I get his contempt and I’ll-do-what-I-want attitude. He likes coming to his mother’s rescue, but even he complained that she was ungrateful because she mentioned numerous times to Esperanza in their telephone conversation (one they would not have in front of me because I’m not privy to the going-on’s of the family) that she shouldn’t have come. To me, she said more than one thing to ruffle my feathers. Not that they weren’t already slightly askew just due to her presence, but she has a way with back-handed compliments. First, she chided me on allowing Primero to bring “people” into the house that then turn around and disrespect me. But, apparently she wasn’t “people” and neither was Esperanza. She chastised me for having too many kids, counting the animals as children. She birthed 6 children, but 3 are too many for me.  This morning she commented, “this house is just so tiny!” to which my mouth almost responded, “it’s bigger than your place.” Because she has no place of her own.

 

Primero and I got into a tiff this morning because he was going to stay home until 8:30 since that was when his mother’s ride could pick her up. He got incredibly angry with me when I suggested she find a place outside to wait, stating I was being rude and I wouldn’t treat my only family that way. Only, I would. If I said you needed to leave when I leave then that is what I meant. And, Primero has already had 4 tardy’s from school and it’s only the 4^th week of school, two of those weeks being abbreviated for Labor Day. So, no, I didn’t want him going into school late. Again. He refused to see this as a pattern or habit and insists being late does not affect his academic performance. So, in addition to all the above, I get to be the bad guy and force him to go to school on time.

 

If you are sitting there wondering why I do this, I am sitting here thinking the same thing. It isn’t fun, I don’t like it. I suppose I would tell you I do it for Primero. And, a part of me does feel bad for his mom. Her life is not enviable. Maybe it’s guilt because I have her child in my home? Perhaps it’s a false sense of responsibility. The bottom line is I’m just plain dumb. My kindness is repaid in issues and passive-aggressive comments. It’s probably a good thing I don’t have a bigger house or I might be stuck with more unwanted guests on a regular basis.  

Grocery Shopping Chaos

I hate grocery shopping. There is literally nothing fun about it. I especially hate grocery shopping with kids. There I said it. I hate taking my children to the grocery store because the second we walk in the door they become hungry gremlins. They want all the junk food their eyes can see, they need to urinate 18 times in the first 5 minutes, they quarrel and yell, and somehow they seem to effect time making our outing last much longer than I had hoped. So, I try to not grocery shop alone with the kids. Sometimes, when I’m really lucky and Mars is in retrograde, Primero watches the kids at home and I can grocery shop alone, in blissful silence, grinning in sheer joy at not having the little monsters whining and hitting one another while I try to find just the right head of lettuce. Anyway, lately Primero has been opting to tag along with me and the little ones. Something about my choice in food stuff being too healthy and not containing nearly enough soda.

 

So, this past weekend we slogged out in the rain (it’s been raining here a lot) to the local Aldi’s. Love Bug was particularly ornery and became downright inconsolable when I refused to buy him a box of chocolate and vanilla ice cream cones. If you’ve never been to Aldi’s, they have a different approach to grocery cart usage. Rather than unload and reload your same cart, they toss your items into an empty cart sitting beside the cashier, leaving your cart awkwardly blocking your reach of the credit card screen. Having extracted a still crabby Love Bug from our cart, Primero decided to use the empty cart that was once full of our stuff, to irritate the preschooler further. He was lifting it and pushing it into Love Bug, pinching him to the loading shelf. I told him to stop. Love Bug told him to stop. The cashier told him to stop. He did not stop. So, as I was trying to fumble for cash to pay for the groceries and walk towards them, the cashier got up walked over and took the cart away, saying she wouldn’t allow Primero to use it as a weapon.

 

Ok. So much to unpack here. First of all, please note how my children do not listen to me. Cool. Also note what choices they make when I am distracted. Chaos. Now, Love Bug was not being hurt. He was yelling but he was also laughing. He was not actually pinned. This is not to say that what Primero did was excused, nor should it be. I was literally a step behind the cashier in reaching the scene to extract Love Bug and put an end to the madness, but the cashier took it into her own hands. She called the cart a weapon. She even said it to me, “I’m sorry but I just couldn’t allow him to use it as a weapon.” Ok. But, you could cause a bigger scene wrestling it from Primero’s hands? And declaring loudly for all other patrons behind us to hear it called a weapon? I was mortified, and it takes a lot to get me to that level given what has happened with so many of the kids I’ve had in my care, and I could not get out of the building into the pouring rain fast enough. Primero was completely unabashed, thinking his behavior was totally acceptable for a technical adult. Listen, I understand the need some bystanders feel to intervene in a situation they feel is dangerous or could lead to injury. Generally, I applaud it because just standing by and not helping is not always a good decision. It’s hard to see the outside perspective when you are one of the players involved. I hold no animosity for the cashier, but I do wish she had given me an opportunity to act before she did. Mostly, I wish my kid (Primero) had listened to me instead of having a total disregard for anything I say. And now I have to rethink my grocery shopping routine once again.

Hidden Meaning in Dreams

 

Do you put much weight in dreams? Meaning, do you think they are your subconscious trying to tell you something or just the crazy things your tired noggin pieces together? I’ve had two experiences in my life where a dream seemed to herald an event. One, when friends and I were excited to go to a concert I dreamt the band was going to read letter from fans and then sing to those fans. Turns out they did something just like that. This was before social media, so I had no idea from previous fans or concerts this would be the case. I was pleasantly surprised. In college I had a realistic dream that my mom wanted to ride my horse (I had two, but the one in my dream did not resemble either of my horses), even though I told her it wasn’t a good idea. She fell off the horse and broke her neck. It was only a few days after the dream when my mom shared with me she would be having neck surgery.

 

Last week I had a dream that felt very real. In my dream I was laying in bed with Love Bug, snuggling him to sleep. Primero burst into the room declaring, “We need to drive to upstate New York. We need to get to Esperanza.” He revealed Esperanza had gotten in a fight with her boyfriend and was in the hospital in bad shape. The dream shook me awake. It felt so realistic, I checked my phone when I woke up, just to be sure it was a dream. When I shared it with Primero, he explained his mom also had a dream about something bad happening to Esperanza, although he didn’t elaborate. It has just stuck in my mind since because I do worry about Esperanza. I truly hope things will go better for her, but until or unless she starts making better, long-term decisions, the pattern will continue.  

Abuelo

Sunday Primero got a phone call from his mom. His grandfather was in the hospital. The story he got was his grandfather fell down the stairs and had a broken neck and was in a medically induced coma because they feared he his brain was bleeding. Primero’s mom is pretty excitable and sometimes makes very large mountains, still her father’s condition was serious. He was not in a coma, medically induced or otherwise. He was very banged up, with contusions all over his head and arms. He had a cracked bone in his vertebrae. He was going to be kept in the hospital for several days. They would also have to medicate him for the DT’s. He had recently been having seizures. Primero was gone for hours Sunday afternoon. When he finally came home he explained that his grandfather’s story didn’t make sense, so the family believes he might have been jumped, but his grandfather claims to not remember. He might truly not remember what happened to him. Primero’s mother decided to move back to town to take care of her father, which Primero had mixed feelings about since his mother had been doing ok where she was living. It was nice that Primero was able to be with his family. Hopefully his grandfather will make a full recovery.

 

Oddly, his grandfather is the only one of Primero’s living family members I have never met. I came close to meeting him once but he was ejected before we had the chance. From the stories I have been told by Primero and Esperanza, their grandfather is sometimes hard to be around. Not long before Esperanza left she bumped into him in town and he got mad when she wouldn’t give him money. Still, it is hard to see a family member hurting and in the hospital. Primero claimed ambivalence about his visit but I’m sure he was glad to be there.  

Tattoo of Support

Chica Marie had her first cheerleading game this past weekend. Not many of her teammates make the 30 minute trek over the county line, especially since summer’s grip on the weather finally released and it was cooler and rainy. We were barely on the sidelines of the flag football happening prior to Chica Marie’s game when we saw some familiar faces. Primero’s youngest sister was there with her step-mom. We waved hi and then I noticed the dad was coaching both the  boys (who happen to attend the same daycare as my kids). When we finally joined the group of cheerleaders I discovered one of the girls is the granddaughter of one of my co-workers. Later, when talking about it with Primero, he expressed frustration with himself for not asking to see his sister’s tattoo. Her what?!

 

Ok, I know tattoos are not the taboo they once were and, despite my personal preference, they are very commonplace. Primero’s sister is 14. Just turned 14 this past summer. And she has a tattoo on her arm. Sure, her dad is a tattoo artist and all, but still to get a permanent tattoo at 14 is insane to me. I cannot remember what I was really into at 14, but I hazard to guess I wouldn’t want to be stuck with it now. Primero explained the tattoo had something to do with Down’s Syndrome, in support of their nephew. You know, the nephew she didn’t want to hold when he was first born, the one she hasn’t seen since? Call me crazy, but that doesn’t seem like the best way to support a cause. I guess I’m just old-fashioned when it comes to body ink. I have no tattoos. I always said I wanted one when I was a teenager but I never got one and now I am so very glad I didn’t because it would have been a butterfly tramp stamp. Lame. Recently, Primero was trying to talk me into getting a tattoo with him and I found one I liked but I was really on the fence about it. This seems to show me I should not get one. It seems, these days, it’s more unique to not have a tattoo….

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Words Spoken in Anger

For over four years now I have tried to carve a family out of our little band of misfits. For the little ones, it has been relatively easy and they have accepted our family as it is; miss-matched and crazy but sewn together with love. Primero has been another story entirely. He has resisted most, if not all, of my attempts to envelope him into the fold. Now, when I talk about creating our family, I see it as in addition to, not seclusion from, their original families. I am not trying to replace, remove, or eliminate their biological families, I am trying to bring the four of us together as an immediate family with all of their family members as well. It’s about addition, not subtraction. Still, Primero resists. He is willing to consider the estranged niece of his oldest brother’s girlfriend family, but won’t call Chica Marie his sister or Love Bug his brother. In the past I used to force or cajole, sometimes even straight-up bribe Primero to participate in family outings. More often than not it ended in me getting frustrated with his dour mood and shitty attitude. I think it’s been well over a year since I’ve even asked him along with us. I do understand he is at an age where it isn’t common to do things with the family, I just wanted to try to soak up as much family time with him as I could before he leaps from the nest. It feels all for naught these days.

 

Primero and I had a not-so-great weekend. We had two minor skirmishes and one very large fight. During our blow-out fight Sunday evening, I felt something inside me break and let go. It was the hope that Primero would accept our family as his family, that he would embrace us all and not feel like having an adoptive family and a biological family are diametrically opposite things; an “us” and “them” kind of situation. He is stuck with us, but wants to be with them. And, while I can understand that and I recognize it is hard, I just thought at some point in time he would come to accept things as they are. He has, and always has had, the opportunity to be in touch and spend time with his biological family. I have never stood in his way or made him feel like he needed to choose (except when he literally does, like where to have Thanksgiving dinner or something like that). On some level, I know he appreciates the stability of our family. We haven’t moved since he moved in. We haven’t experienced any of the calamities he lived through as a child, with domestic violence and whatnot. Still, he resists embracing our family as his. I have (mostly) come to terms with him never calling me “mom” or even really seeing me as one. But, it really hurts to see him reject the little ones in the same way. He often times still refers to them as his “foster siblings” and when counting his brothers and sisters, he does not include them. I’m sure, if my parents had adopted little kids when I was a teenager I would have felt like they were interlopers, but at some point I think I’d move past it. I thought maybe finalization would make that happen, but thus far that doesn’t seem to be the case.

 

Primero and I finally talked Wednesday night and he mentioned wondering what things would be like if he had chosen Permanent Legal Custody instead of adoption. I don’t really know what difference he thinks there would be, because he planned on staying with me. Maybe he thinks it would make it easier to walk away? It would give a looser connection? I told him I think it would have made me less tolerant of his recent behaviors. Plus, all legal obligation would have ended when he turned 18, so maybe he would have felt like he had more freedom at that point in time. I don’t know. We really didn’t get to discuss what difference he thinks it would have made. I think Primero regrets being adopted, I think he still wishes his biological family had kept him.

 

The reason this all came up was because when we were fighting Primero like to find the most painful, caustic thing he can say and hurl it at me. He has been doing this for quite some time now and the small cuts and bruises have grown into gaping wounds. His words, spoken in anger, have wormed their way into my brain and so now I tell them to myself – he wants to absolve the adoption, he thinks I’m a terrible mother, he thinks I adopted them for the money, he thinks he would be better off without me. For a while I could hold them back, but now I cannot. Before when I brought this up to him, he told me, “Well, families fight.” Yes, families do fight but they don’t find the most terrible thing they know you think about yourself and fling it at you with such vitriol. I said I have been very angry at him but never have I said, “I wish I hadn’t adopted you.” Never did I make fun of his sexuality or his weight, both sensitive subjects to him. Because even when I am boiling angry, I don’t want to hurt him like that. I don’t want to be cruel. I’m not sure if I got through to him, but I hope I did. It is a lesson he needs to learn now, not later. The things he says, even in anger, can cause lasting damage. I hope he keeps that in mind.     

Extra-curricular Activies

Chica Marie is getting involved in some extra-curricular activities. For children in her school there is an after-school bowling group once a week. The bowling alley provides transportation to the facility and parents must pick up by 5:30 pm. This program runs until just before Christmas. I agreed to allow Chica Marie to participate, but warned her if I get one report that is not following the rules or being uncooperative she would withdraw. In addition, she has joined the cheerleading team. Due to poor communication and my own issues (more on that in a minute) she is  behind because she didn’t start practice with the other girls. She did make it in time to get sized for shoes and a body suit to wear under her uniform. She practices twice a week at the local high school. And that is where my issues come into play. I have a terrible sense of direction. Just the worst. It causes me anxiety to go to a large place and not know specifically where to go. So, when the first email came out after signing her up for cheerleading, all it said was go to the local high school. It didn’t say, this is when you will learn when practice starts so be there or be square. No, the email made it sound like an option. So, we were busy and didn’t go. After a few emails cancelling practice (due to excessive heat) and finally a parent night. Still with the same vague directions. I fought my anxiety to get us there. I almost went home when it wasn’t clear where to go at the high school (keep in mind this is a HUGE building that I am not familiar with at all, I think I’ve only been there once or twice). Fortunately, I kept fighting and we made it to the practice. And, I was persistent in learning what I needed to know because information was not shared in a logical order – at least not to my befuddled brain! So, I now know practice is Tuesday and Wednesday evening and the games are early Saturday mornings. And, I need to stock up on coffee because I’m not a fan of early mornings. Go team!

Good News or Bad News First?

Do you like to receive the good news first or the bad news? For me, I’d rather have the bad news first so it doesn’t spoil the good news – it’s the let-down before a little high. Sometimes, the good news does not out-weigh the bad and sometimes the bad news distracts from even getting the good news, but usually that is how I like to receive the good/bad news. So, in light of this, here is the bad news, followed by some good.

 

Bad News:

 

• Primero and I are on the out’s again. We fought viciously Sunday evening and didn’t speak to one another at all on Monday. He text me earlier today and we might be working it out but I’m so tired of the constant fighting. At one point I screamed at him to get out, to pack his shit and get out of the house. It was bad.
• The plumbing issue cost us a $125 lesson. At least we can now shower again. The tub seems to be leaking on occasion. The battle seems never-ending.
• The only working back seat door to the van is not working. Like we cannot open it at all because the lock broke and my dad took the mechanism out and the electrical part isn’t working. So, I’m dropping my child off at school, making her climb out the back of the van. Strapping in Love Bug is a treat because I have to lunge over my seat to do it, using only one hand because I need to balance with my other. We desperately need a new van. The one we had barely passed inspection and has more wrong with it than not. No AC (which is so hard with this heat!), the front passenger’s side window does not go down, the fan that blows air on the windshield is broken so when it’s humid it’s hard to see, both back passenger doors do not function, the one light doesn’t stay in place, the release to open the hood is broken, the floor where Chica Marie sits is broken, the driver’s seat cover pops off making it hard to move the seat, and we can’t put the spare back under the van because the contraption holding it is jammed. So, we basically have four new tires and a hunk of junk.
• I discovered at work this morning that someone I met during a professional development program I attended a few years ago died from a brain aneurysm last Thursday. I also found out the former director of the board over-seeing where I work, passed away last week.
• A friend convinced me to sign up for a dating app I had never used before. She agreed to sign up too. I went on two dates with two different men I have no plan on dating. The rest of the time I was bombarded with messages that I could not keep up, felt overwhelmed and decided I’d rather be single that keep doing what I was doing.

 

Good News:

 

• My mom had been so worried about one of the numbers for her CA-125 testing because it was much higher than her previous numbers. She thought for sure it meant her cancer had metastasized. She scheduled herself for a CAT scan, which was last Thursday. The doctor read her CAT scan and said there were no signs of cancer in her body. Hallelujah!
• I took the wee ones to the pool for Labor Day. It was warm but not excruciatingly hot. Love Bug was getting brave in the big pool because he realized in the three-foot end he could stand. Chica Marie is getting to be a much better swimmer, diving underwater and going into the deeper water. We had a nice time, just the three of us.
• It’s Taco Tuesday!