Whatever "A" It Is

According to Chica Marie’s mobile therapist, who will also be Love Bug’s mobile therapist, the psychological evaluation done by the behavioral therapy psychiatrist indicates Love Bug is dual diagnosed ADHD and ODD. Exactly like his sister. There was no mention of autism or being on the spectrum. At least not in the little bit that the mobile therapist shared with me. We have a meeting about it all next week, so perhaps more will come about then. Still, it is perplexing to me to that the diagnosis are so different. Only, according to the cursory research I have done (reading autism and ADHD websites, mostly), there seem to be a lot of overlapping behaviors between the two diagnosis. It seems to boil down to communication or lack thereof and repetitive motions. For Love Bug, he was slightly speech delayed and had speech therapy for about a year or so, but he is understandable now and can get his needs met by using his words. However, he does not always immediately verbalize what he needs. Instead, when he gets upset or frustrated or angry, he sticks his finger in his mouth, folds his arms and grunts. If a trusted adult gets down to his level and slowly talks to him, he can eventually calm down and express himself.

 

I don’t think Love Bug has any repetitive motions. He doesn’t flap his arms or rock back and forth. He does still suck his finger and when he is angry or overwhelmed, he runs and hides. In some ways, his behaviors are stuck at the 2 year old stage. He likes me to hold him, with his head on my shoulder, nuzzled under my neck. He often times comes to me for soothing after having a meltdown. So often he seeks to hold my hand or smush his face into my arm or just wrap his arm around mine. He is very touchy-feely with me and sometimes with other trusted adults, like his favorite daycare teacher and the director’s wife, who he calls Mee-maw, like her grandkids do. Love Bug makes eye contact with me. But, he eschews contact with his peers. If some of his friends at daycare issue an exuberant “Good morning Love Bug!” or something similar, he does not respond in kind. Instead, he dives into me, my leg or my arms if I’m crouched down at his level. Is this autism spectrum behavior? Is it ADHD? Is it just the way Love Bug copes with things? I don’t know.

 

I have signed the paperwork allowing the Intermediate Unit staff to evaluate Love Bug. I have also signed a release for them to provide their findings to the behavioral health staff, like the mobile therapist. Both entities assure me it is not double dipping to have them evaluate and work with Love Bug. So, at some point in the future, a school psychologist, speech therapist, and occupational therapist will observe and evaluate Love Bug. In the meantime, the behavioral health group will most likely assign a TSS worker to help Love Bug at the daycare. It has been proposed I look into the Pre-K counts class for Love Bug and I have the paperwork mostly completed I’m just hesitant to move him right now. I would need to make sure transportation is provided and the timing works with my work schedule. And, I really don’t want to start throwing Love Bug into tons of different things with so many new adults only to do it all over again when he starts kindergarten in the fall.

 

My goal and main concern is getting Love Bug the help he needs so he can be successful in daycare and when he starts school. The diagnosis is secondary to making sure his needs get met. What I think based on what I know, is not important. What is important is understanding Love Bug, and what techniques he needs to be stable, comfortable and maybe even enjoying daycare and school. I mean, if you don’t like kindergarten just wait for high school! I don’t want my confusion to be viewed as resistance. Whatever the mental health professionals agree upon as a diagnosis, I will accept it. I just want to make sure they see my Love Bug and understand him so we all can help him. Period. End.   

I Don't Sleep Alone

 

When I was talking to my sister last week about Chica Marie sleeping on my floor and lamenting the loss of autonomy in my own bed, my sister reminded me how often she would sleep in my bed or on my bedroom floor. It occurred to me, the only stretch of time I didn’t have anyone sleeping with me was when I was in college. And even then, I was not alone in the room, just in my bed by myself. You would think, given my history of not sleeping alone, I would be accustomed to someone sleeping in my bed, but alas, it still makes me toss and turn. Right now, it feels like I will forever be prying someone’s toes out of my hamstring, or shoving a warm snoring body onto their side of the bed. I don’t mind the cats so much because they usually sleep at my feet or behind my knees. Sometimes, my cat (only one is really mine) Brisa likes to sleep on top of me, either on my hip if I’m on my side, or on my chest if I’m on my back. But, her slight frame is not as distracting as Love Bug grabbing my face in his sleep or Bailey, the beagle, snuffling under my covers to steal my warmth.

 

Both of the little ones relish sleeping in my room, with me. They eschew sleeping in their own beds in their own bedroom. At night, as I am trying to woo them to sleep, they talk about who will wake up first and sneak off to my room. For a long time, Love Bug would wake up Chica Marie to bring him to my room. Only recently, Chica Marie has been staying in my room. I listen to their nightly banter about braving the kitchen and passing the dark basement door before reaching the safety of my room. Even when he slept in my bedroom, Love Bug would climb into my bed nightly. It’s funny to me now, but at one point early on I was very concerned that Love Bug was not bonding with me. Now, he is a total momma’s boy. With Chica Maire it’s a little harder, but knowing she seeks me out for comfort is positive.

 

At some point I am sure I will look back at this point and read it with wistful nostalgia as I try to rouse two grumpy teenagers who never want to leave their bedroom. I will look back and ache for the time when Chica Marie and Love Bug fought to sleep in my room. It is the nature of the beast in parenting. We grasp time, longing to find a pause or slow down option, only to be left with our beautiful memories to coddle. Such is life!

Lunch with My Sister

On Black Friday, I had lunch with my sister. She recently started seeing a therapist, again. She tried once before, but didn’t like the pervious therapist. From her description of what she wants, it sounds more like she is looking for a drill sergeant channeling their inner R. Lee Ermey. Still, it was enlightening to both of us to discuss the things that happened in our home, especially the trauma caused by our brother. My sister believes my over-caring and nurturing came because I felt like I needed to protect her at that time, since she was younger than me. I attributed it to my inflated sense of responsibility and taking on other people’s problems. For her, well it all seems to have manifest into anxiety and a hyper-vigilant need to control everything.


My sister still harbors a good deal of anger about the whole situation. We discussed how this might stem from the difference in our ages, since I was much older when the craziness was going on. I was also more independent and able to get out of the situation than my sister was at the time. I had a job, which took me out of the home frequently. She was pre-pubescent and felt trapped, other than the times I took her with me, which was anywhere I could. My sister also attributed her current emotional state to one of the major reasons she doesn’t want to have children. She realizes she is not emotionally prepared to care for another human life in such a capacity. Their dog is enough responsibility and demands enough of her time and energy. She also mentioned how her own stuff affects her marriage, when it spills out onto her husband. I believe it is quite wise of her to not let her own stuff affect an innocent child. Still, I think she would be a good, if demanding, mother, but I support her decision without reservation.

 

Our time spent together wasn’t all doom and gloom from the past, even if comparing therapy notes was slightly cathartic. After our lunch we walked to a nearby farm shop and delighted in some of their yummy fare. We tried a delicious hot apple cider, sniffed tantalizing handmade soaps and shampoo bars (I bought one to try), and drooled over the scrumptious smelling pies they were baking. All-in-all it was a wonderful visit and it made me wish we lived just a little closer together so we could have more outings just like it.

One Down, One to Go

We survived Thanksgiving. I spent the morning convincing myself to relax and do nothing (which eventually turned into 4 days of the same thing, so now the house is a giant mess and I lack the motivation to do anything more than spot clean). Love Bug and I shared a head cold and he spiked a slight fever a few times. I made guacamole for our offering to Thanksgiving dinner. It was received very tepidly. My sister enjoyed it. And my cousin’s wife  ate some (she’s vegan, so she brings her own stuff mostly). And my kids. Chica Marie had several heaping helpings and it was the only thing Primero ate. Yes, Primero went along with us to my aunt and uncle’s for Thanksgiving for the first time in at least two years. He kept to himself on his phone and only talked to me to say my mom gave him a stink eye when she saw him. We didn’t stay at the festivities very long because Love Bug was demanding we leave (Mommy, can we go home?) after he spent the entire day asking to go to “uncles” house. I wasn’t feeling the greatest, so I was fine with leaving after only a few hours. I only lamented not being able to spend more time with my sister and brother-in-law, who were also in attendance for the first time in a few years. The highlight of the day was meeting my aunt and uncle’s new chocolate lab-sheep dog puppy, Odin.

Not Yet a Believer

The daycare felt positive after the IEP meeting last week. They had a game plan, albeit small and simple, but they ran with it and declared it was working after just a day. It was a positive because they could see my Love Bug in a different light. It was an a-ha moment for them. Predictably, I was feeling less-positive after the pronouncement and possible impending diagnosis. I was certain Love Bug would be diagnosed with ADHD like his sister. He seemed to exhibit similar characteristics and behavioral issues. He did seem less social than his sister, but he was gregarious and loving and his delay just meant he needed a boost to get back on track.

 

The intervention therapist asked me during the meeting if I had an suspicions or worries that Love Bug might be on the spectrum. Before he started early intervention for speech therapy I thought it might be a possibility. But, his primary care physician didn’t think he had the markers and when the early interventionists evaluated him, they made no mention of the possibility. Even at his recent evaluation for TSS therapy just a few weeks ago, autism was not suggested. I did fill out the autism form and many of the markers didn’t fit for Love Bug. I knew he struggled socially in group settings, but it seemed when he was one-on-one with other kids he was fine. I blamed myself for his unwillingness to play with other kids and choose to spend time with me instead because I babied him. So what if he liked being with his momma? He struggled playing with his sister but I chalked that up to the age gap and their stubbornness to have things go their own ways.

 

A week ago, a month ago, if you had asked me if there was a diagnosis I felt I was not capable of handling I would have told you autism. I think it’s the unknown about it that scared me. And, what I perceived, as life-long difficulties made me feel unequipped to handle a child on the spectrum. It was the instant vaporization of Love Bug’s future as I envisioned it that brought hot, angry tears to my eyes and gut-wrenching sobs to the back of my throat. No one will understand my Love Bug, was my fear. They will see his diagnosis and not him and his potential.

 

I understand, getting a bead on a diagnosis is crucial to getting help for the things that are making his life hard. I know a label is just a word. I also know, how it can trigger undesirable things, like it did with Chica Marie. If this thought becomes an official diagnosis, I will need to learn how to not see it as something being taken from Love Bug, rather as a tool to help him be his best self.

This Too Shall Pass

Chica Marie has started sleeping on the floor in my bedroom. The bed is too full, with me, Love Bug, two cats (at least) and a beagle. It’s only a full, so not big enough for another wiggly body. So, she gathers blankets and her pillow and sleeps beside me on the floor. She is quite happy with the arrangement. I feel awful. I wish there were room in the bed for her. The next best thing, that does not make me feel like a very good mother, is a sleeping pad or sleeping bag. I don’t think a bigger bed is economical at this point, but perhaps something I could look into in the not-too-distant future. Chica Marie and Love Bug would really be quite satisfied if we all just slept together, snuggled up like a pile of puppies. I sleep better alone, with no toes separating my ribs, or hot breathing on my neck, or someone inevitably laying on my hair. Chica Marie is very sure a robber is going to break into the house and hurt her and Love Bug. Sleeping on my floor feels more safe than alone in her bunk bed. I just need to be able to sleep peacefully. It does not seem possible.

 

The one thing Primero was asked to do by our new family therapist was to eat dinner every night with me and the kids. Even if he doesn’t eat anything, he should come sit with us. Thus far, he has only had dinner with us when we went out to eat last week when it snowed. If he isn’t going to make an effort, is there any point? I haven’t said anything to him yet. Our next appointment is next Friday. Honestly, if he doesn’t want to make any changes, then I think we should just stop and realize this isn’t going to work. As painful as that would be, I don’t need him pretending he is going to try, while I promise to make changes (because I know my time will come, there will be things I too will be asked to do differently) in earnest. I don’t know why joining the family dinner is difficult, I don’t know why making that simple concession is not something Primero is willing to do.

 

On Friday Primero had a two-hour delay to start school. So did Chica Marie and me. He was not out of bed when we left the house. I tried calling him. No answer. I text him and he never responded. He was angry last week when the school had me sign absent slips and I asked them to notify me if he doesn’t come to school. He said I told him it was his choice. He can’t have it both ways. I can’t not know when he is in school but be expected to sign the absent slips. If he continues to miss days, he runs the risks of being kicked out of school. He is so sure he will graduate, but he thinks he can do it his way, following his own rules. He really needs a wake-up call. I will not be signing any more slips. It’s his problem.

 

Things have been feeling very overwhelming lately. With the holidays looming, I am struggling to keep going. I’m so tired so often. And I’ve been getting headaches, which is a clear indication the stress is getting to me. I think I’m looking forward to January, when the holidays have passed and the hustle and bustle have returned to normal levels. I just need to hold on until then. Happy Thanksgiving!

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Turn The Other Cheek

I’m not overly religious. I wish I were a little more, but I’m not. Still, I consider myself a Christian and I try to follow the basic tenents of Christianity; treating others as you would like to be treated, turn the other cheek, love your neighbor, judge not, don’t cast the first stone, forgive. It isn’t always easy. In fact, it is often very difficult. I don’t think of myself as a martyr, so I hope this doesn’t come off that way. I’m not a savior, something a lot of adoptive parents and foster parents are criticized as being, especially in terms of transracial families. I adopted because I wanted to be a mother. I adopted from foster care because it was a shorter wait time (in a way – shorter wait to have a child in my home but perhaps longer to finalize). I foster because I want to help, not rescue, just help when and where I can. My mother tells me I have a bleeding heart and I’m too kind hearted. I think it’s better than being cold and uncaring. Nevertheless, my kindness has been used against me more than once.

 

Not for the first time I have felt hurt and betrayed by Primero and members of his family. Currently, it is Esperanza. We have our history (and here) (and here) (also here), but this constant coming and going needs to end. This latest issue with Esperanza’s ex-boyfriend breaking the windshield on the van has really shown me how little she thinks of me and our family.

 

Esperanza was quick to point out it wasn’t her fault that the windshield was smashed with a brick. She was quick to deny breaking the windshield of her ex’s car, stating she was nowhere near his place that night. The rest of the story, the part she didn’t readily tell, was that she had gone to the club where her ex works as a bouncer with another man. The ex-boyfriend threw her and the guy out of the club and she went to her cousin’s house without the guy. How or why her ex thought she was the one who broke his windshield is a mystery. Why he thought throwing a brick through my windshield was just retribution, I do not understand. Not once did Esperanza apologize. Not once did she offer any form of assistance in dealing with the issue. When she text me the next day that he was threatening her and telling her she should leave town, I suggested she stay with her mom until things cool down. Somehow, that meant I was throwing her out. So, she came home that Sunday afternoon, packed her stuff and left out of the back basement door so she wouldn’t have to see me or the kids or have the decency to say good-bye. She also unfriended me on Facebook. I am the victim of vandalism by her ex-boyfriend, but I get treated like dirt?

 

Supposedly, she has gone back to her other ex-boyfriend in upstate New York. Whatever. The thing is though, I have (stupidly) been paying for her to have a cell phone. Ever since she first stayed with us and I bought her a phone for Christmas, which I intended to be a brief gift (it came with an 18 month plan), yet this morphed into an on-going free phone for her. Except, if I can’t be treated with common decency, why on earth should I continue paying for her phone? I’m stuck with monthly payments and still have 10 more months to go, but then I think the gravy train needs to end. I’m not the kind of person who expects constant quid pro quo, but again, if I don’t even deserve a good-bye, then I don’t need to be paying for your phone. Never once did she offer to help pay her phone bill, even when she was working. So, yeah, I think I’ve been walked all over enough. I’ve heard, we teach people how to treat us by what we let them get away with doing to us. Well, it’s time for me to be treated with some respect.

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies

On Tuesday, Primero and I attended our first family therapy session. When I picked Primero up from school I was asked to sign absent slips. According to the school, Primero did not go to school on Monday. He claimed he did, but I suspect he did not. I did not work on Monday and I offered to take him to school. He declined, stating he would walk instead. At the end of the day, when he was supposed to be coming home, it sounded like the back basement door slammed before he dragged the trash cans from the front of the house to the back. I signed the slip and asked the school to keep me in the loop when Primero was not accounted for in school. He has done this before, last year. But, the school has also missed counting him in attendance before. It certainly does not help our situation. I believe, based on his actions in the last year, Primero would skip school and then adamantly lie to me about it. He’s lied to me before. Eighteen months ago, I would have adamantly defended him, believing he would not lie to me. Now, I wonder how many times he has lied to me and I believed him and supported him and it makes me feel sick to the stomach. How often has he pulled the wool over my eyes and I was a willing participant?

 

The therapy session was not easy. The therapist is trying to get to know us, but I worry she was being too hard on Primero and he will see it as “them” taking my side. I expressed how I just wanted to be heard and the therapist guessed how disrespected I feel at home. I don’t know how much penetrated into Primero’s mind. I don’t know how much he will allow to penetrate. She offered to see us separately, but for the time being we will be going to sessions together. I like the therapist and I appreciate that she seems to be a straight-shooter and unafraid to be honest and up-front. I think both of us need that at this point. I don’t know if any of it will help. The rawness is still so fresh and the many hurts will take a lot to heal, but I need to remain optimistic and believe we can both change for the better.

Unexpected Diagnosis

 

I have never shied away from getting my kids professional help. I have never denied treatments that mental health professionals have felt would help the children. I have never been abashed from seeking a diagnosis that would help determine the level of assistance my children would receive. I have accepted that they struggle with developmental delays and behavioral issues. I never cried when a mental health professional explained to me their thoughts on what is going on with my children. But, this morning I did. This morning I wanted to deny the idea of a diagnosis, to disclaim its validity, I wanted to prove it was untrue. I wanted to make it untrue.

 

This morning I had an IEP meeting with the early intervention therapist and the daycare staff. We were talking about Love Bug and the struggles he has been having. I knew he struggled with social interactions and I sensed he was simply overwhelmed when in his daycare classroom. I knew he was unhappy going to daycare, it seemed to give him anxiety to be there. I knew he preferred to stay home with me and I chalked it up to him being a momma’s boy. I thought he didn’t like having the expectations of daycare; cleaning up, playing nice with others and sharing, sitting at story time, doing crafts. I knew he had a developmental delay. I thought his diagnosis would be the same as his sister – ADHD. He certainly exhibited some of the same behaviors as his sister. But, the early intervention therapist didn’t mention attention deficit issues. She said, based on her observation of him in the daycare classroom, she believes he is high-functioning autistic.

 

There will be several professionals sent to observe Love Bug in daycare. A school psychologist, an occupational therapist, and a speech and language therapist will all be sent to see and judge what is going on with Love Bug. The therapist this morning indicated that his expressive language is excellent, but his receptive language is lagging behind. This means, he can say and explain many things, but he cannot hear and comprehend at the same level. She stated his outbursts and difficulties getting along in the classroom have been a cry for help because he feels overwhelmed and is overstimulated just by being in the classroom with his peers. She gave the daycare staff a three-step process to help when he is about to melt down. She suggested they remove all the children from his vicinity and any toys or other objects he could use to hurt himself other others. He should remain in the same spot he is in, but there should be no communication with him and then they should wait. If he is given time, he might be able to come out of the anxiety-driven tantrum on his own and be able to resume the activity or playing with his friends. Then, at a later time, he can be removed to process what happened.

 

Obviously, this is not a solid diagnosis at this point. Love Bug was also evaluated last week at the same agency where Chica Marie’s mobile therapist works. The doctor’s evaluation has not been completed. I did share the observation from the intervention therapist with the mobile therapist, in case it would change anything for the help of the TSS worker.  I don’t think Love Bug is on the autism spectrum, but I am not a mental health professional. I don’t want to send him to school with a diagnosis that can be used, as it was for his sister, to push him into a special classroom where he cannot learn. Love Bug is smart and I think, with assistance, he could be able to stay in a regular classroom and thrive. I don’t want a label to prevent him from having that opportunity. I am going to wait for the word from the professionals before I start worrying more about it. The declaration this morning was just not something I was expecting to hear. At the end of the day, he is still my Love Bug and we will work to get him the help he needs to be successful in school and in life.

Nightmares

Chica Marie is suddenly having nightmares and difficulty staying asleep at night. She also wet the bed twice last week after months and months of no accidents. Last night, as I lay on the bottom bunk getting Love Bug to sleep, she expressed her fears. She doesn’t like being in her bedroom alone when Love Bug leaves to come sleep with me. She is afraid the person who broke our van windshield will come back and break into her bedroom. She worries about someone breaking in to rob us. She is scared of the dark, even though there is a nightlight in her bedroom, the kitchen, and the bathroom. She woke up screaming and crying last night, something she hasn’t done in a long time. I got up and helped her to the bathroom before collapsing back into bed. I didn’t sleep much after the disruption. Other than getting up and helping her calm down, I have no solutions to her nighttime angst. For a long, long time when she was younger, this was our nighttime routine. So many nights she would wake up screaming, calling for me. I would help her settle and fall back asleep then drag myself back to bed. This vandalism has had more reaching consequences than even I could have guessed. It enrages me that someone could do something so callously and upset the balance so wholly in our home. I really hope for more restful nights for Chica Marie and for me.

My Day

Veteran's Day is the one day of the year that I don't have work but the kids still have school. It is a day I relish as a free day off; a day I can do what I want. I made sure to have the house clean so I wouldn't be tempted to do that on my day. I did make a few appointments, so I could go child-free. And I grabbed a few groceries, but also not so bad without lugging the kids along with me. Then, I came home and vegged. Yup. Nothing fancy on my day off, I just Netflixed and chilled with myself. And the furry kids, who also vegged on the couch with me. And it was glorious.

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Self-Care

Self-care. In foster care training and subsequent group sessions, the agency would talk about self-care and admonish foster parents to no get burned out by initiating self-care routines. But, no one really explains how we are supposed to find the time, energy and resources to actually take care of ourselves. Sure, self-care looks different to everyone, but the mechanics on how to make it happen are similar. Before the foster care rules changed, I used to be able to send the little ones to respite and get a break. When the rules changed and especially now that the children are all adopted, I don’t have that option. I’m on my own and left to find a way to get away from my children. When things were ok with Primero, he would be my back-up and it worked well because he knows the kids, he knows the house rules, and the little ones (especially Chica Maire) would not be able to manipulate him. But, Primero has made it clear he no longer wishes to stay home and watch the kids, so I need to find an alternative. It isn’t as easy as it sounds. I need someone (or maybe a handful of someones) reliable and trustworthy, who has experience with children who have special needs, someone who is not easily swayed by an adorable smile and someone willing to tolerate our cavalcade of animals to boot. The time and energy it would take me to find and vet someone is daunting, so I have been avoiding it. Not to say I don’t try to take breaks and treat myself. A few weeks ago I took off of work for a whole day on Friday. I got a pedicure and bought some new (much needed) pants. In the evenings I have some me time when the little ones go to sleep. It used to be my time with Primero, but now it’s my own time. Often times I catch up on a show I like or play solitaire on my computer. I don’t often have my mental acuity for anything else after a long day. I think I should start reading more, it’s the one thing I seemed to have given up since I’ve become a mother and I miss getting lost in a good book.

 

I wish I had more time to do things, like yoga or meditation or even to go on a nice long walk by myself. It’s not that I don’t like spending time with my children, it’s just hard to feel peaceful when answering 101 questions about the color of the leaves or why there are ladybugs but not guybugs. I wish I could do simple things, like grocery shop, by myself because the task would be infinitely more simple without trying to corral small beings bent on utter destruction. I find small spaces, little snippets of time, to do things for myself. A bubble bath and a glass of wine. Headphones to hear a good song, or sometimes I put it on and dance with the kids. A special treat, like dark chocolate or a meal I like. I wish I had time and funds for a spa weekend or to attend a woman’s retreat, but those things are not a reality. Getting away is not a possibility in the now. So, I make do with what I have and try to keep snatching enough time to keep my cup from going totally dry. It won’t always be this way.

Not the Motherhood of My Dreams

Sometimes, when things are hard and I’m feeling really down, I think about how different motherhood has been from what I had imagined. Of course I knew that it wasn’t always easy;  parenting is more than chocolate chip pancakes on Sunday’s and blanket forts during summer thunderstorms. I knew parenting had plenty of challenges and difficulties. But, sometimes, when I let my guard down, when I feel like I have been stripped of every last vestige of sanity, I wonder how different motherhood would be if my children were biologically mine. It might be the same. Things might be just as complicated, but in my weakened state it seems like a child with my green eyes and sandy blonde hair would not have a diagnosis that caused such destructive behaviors. Maybe it’s just easy to blame it all on foster care and adoption. So often I sit and think about what I’ve done and what I do as a parent that causes or allows my children to make such poor choices and act so unhinged. Is it me? Would my children be better off in a dual parent home, with two attentive adults tag-teaming their special needs? Would it be easier to endure the crushing blows of “he had another bad day” if there were someone else to shoulder the blame? I have no way of knowing. I can’t let the dreams of what could have been discolor the good things about what is. I can’t resent my children because they are not like me and do not have my genetic disposition. They had no voice or choice in how they came to be adopted or what traits they inherited.

 

My kids are not easy to parent. When I attempt to do what I believe is a simple chore, it often turns into an arduous task laden with frustration. I repeat myself incessantly and redirect so often I sometimes wonder if I’m still speaking English to my children. Grocery shopping, stopping in a store to “quickly” buy an item, stopping for gas, going to the chiropractor after work, talking to an acquaintance we meet out and about, clothing shopping, doctor’s visits, evaluations, voting; none of these things are easy to do with my kids. The last time I had the kids with me at the chiropractor I was mortified at their behaviors. They would not listen to me, they would not stop yelling and running around, they touch things they should not touch and they never, ever sit still. Never. Ever. Even doing fun things can be difficult if they are expected to wait or if they cannot do exactly what they want to do (hang off the railing or run, or jump on something, or climb on something). It wears me down. I think carefully about what things we do for fun and how willing I would be to leave in the middle of it, if the kids really spiral out of control. Our life is complicated and I feel like a ring master, keeping the tigers at bay with a whip and a chair. It isn’t easy. And, while I wish I could take a break, the hassle and stress of trying to find someone capable of “handling” my kids is not an easy task.  

How to Move Forward

 My therapist asked me what I hoped to get out of the family therapy I have scheduled with Primero. I didn’t have a ready answer because honestly I felt like I had reached the end of my rope. I envisioned using the appointment as a way to tell Primero he needed to move out, find a new place to live. But, that seemed counter-intuitive to the purpose of counseling. So, I’ve been mulling over what it is I want, what I hope to get out of the therapy. I don’t have very concrete ideas. I was telling myself and Primero our relationship was irreparably broken. I didn’t think there was anything left to fix; the pieces had shattered into shards so tiny no amount of glue could coax them back together. Primero said if I felt that way, there is no reason to go to therapy. He wasn’t wrong, but at the same time I feel like I need to try.

 

Months ago, during another rough patch I wrote this. I realized at that moment, I didn’t want to be just another person to give up on Primero when the going gets tough. As this difficult year (I’m counting the year from Primero’s 18^th birthday last year, when he took the stance “I’m an adult now and no one can tell me what to do.”) kept dealing new fights and the tensions mounted, I needed to find a release, a way to let go of the pent-up anger I felt about how Primero was acting and treating me. The constant little (and not so little) hurts dug under my skin and I really felt like I needed to do something drastic to make it all stop. Eliminate the issue, remove the problem, and then I should be able to heal and move on. But, it isn’t so easy with family, is it?

 

I still feel stuck between contrasting ideas – I want Primero to leave and take all these problems with him and I want to find a way to live harmoniously without all the tension, anger and pain. In therapy, I hope to be heard. I really want Primero to hear and understand, as much as I’m sure he wants the same thing. He told me yesterday and he has told me this in the past, he feels stuck between our family (me and the kids) and his family (biological family). The question is why? Do I do things that make him feel that way? Does he make himself feel that way? Why must we be kept separate? Are we not all his family, just with different ties that bind us? The second thing I hope to gain from family therapy with Primero is a healthy way forward. I don’t know if that means living together or separate, but currently what is going on is unsustainable. And nothing changes if nothing changes. I know I am not perfect, I know I have made plenty, probably millions, of mistakes, so I know this isn’t all about Primero making changes. I guess it all boils down to how willing we are to work on it, together and separately.

 

Over the weekend Primero went to spend the night with his mom and aunt. He sent me a very long text about a lot of things. The one thing that stuck out to me was a comment he made about “all of this stuff being gone someday.” He was referring to the things that his stipend pays for and it seems he worries about what life might be like when that is over and he will be on his own. As exciting as it is to be a grown up and make your own choices, it is also scary to have to feel the full weight of the responsibility of being on your own. The thing is, up until things began falling apart, I never told Primero he needed to leave. I told him our house would be his home until he felt ready to leave. Yes, I have the expectation that he find a job and learn to be financially responsible, but he could do that with the safety net of home there to keep him afloat. Striking out on your own isn’t always easy, but it is a necessary part of growing up.  Has this worry been the driving force behind his behaviors? I don’t know. Hopefully, we can get to the heart of the matter and work through all the hard stuff.

Bring On The Rain

Things have been hard lately. I feel like all my children are spiraling out of control. Love Bug was suspended from daycare, Chica Marie was bullying girls at daycare, and well I've written volumes about the issues with Primero.

Saturday afternoon I was caught in the crossfire of a spat between Esperanza and her ex-boyfriend. The result was a brick being thrown into my van windshield. Trying to get it fixed has proven problematic because it stated raining last night. I took off of work today but still the windshield isn't fixed because they can't fix the windshield in the rain.

I was feeling broken and defeated. My phone reminded me I had an appointment at the chiropractor. I walked in the rain, the skies darkening as I trudged along feeling pretty miserable. As I sat waiting to be seen, I overheard a conversation between the secretary and another patient. I didn't hear much, but I heard the secretary explain her daughter, in a far away state, recently had a baby but things didn't go as planned. The baby got wedged in the birth canal and it took 7 nurses pushing on the mom's abdomen with the doctor tugging to get the baby out. The newborns shoulder was broken in the process and there were other complications because the baby is in the NICU. The mom sustained a fourth degree tear (don't google this). The secretary expressed how worried she was and how much she just wanted to be there for her daughter, especially since her in-laws were on vacation in Hawaii and the couple is without support.

Suddenly, as I listened to someone in much more difficult circumstances than my own, my burden lightened just a tad, just enough for my to pick up my head and soldier on.

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Is It Too Late?

On Monday Primero called me at work and asked me if I could take off of work to see a family therapist together with him. He did not want to see the therapist I see, he wanted someone who is unfamiliar with either side of our story. I agreed a fresh perspective would be good and asked my therapist for a recommendation. After playing phone tag for a few days, I was finally able to speak to the receptionist and get an appointment with a new family therapist who works at the same agency as my therapist. Our appointment is for the day after Veteran’s Day. I’m glad Primero asked to see a therapist together but right now I am feeling like it’s just a little too late. I am emotionally worn down to nothing; I don’t know if I believe our relationship can be salvaged. For a year now I have been battling with Primero and the million little jabs and cuts have all-but destroyed me. I am at the point where I second guess everything Primero tells me and everything he does. And, after doing this for so long, I really have come to the point where I think we would be better off not living together anymore. I didn’t want to reach this point, I have fought hard against it, but this past weekend, when he came home and walked right past me like I was nothing, like I didn’t exist, I realized how the air in the home changed and I felt like it was choking me and how much more relaxed I was when he wasn’t home. I truly feel like I need to turn my attention to the little ones, I need to be there for them in a better emotional state than I have been in lately. They need me. Primero has made it clear he does not and he doesn’t seem to want anything but his things. The little ones want a family.

 

Next week Love Bug is being evaluated to start services in the daycare. He has been having bad days for months, but now instead of being a bi-weekly or weekly occurrence, it is daily. When he is upset about a small infraction (like not being one of the first kids called on to wash their hands yesterday), he has a meltdown. Yesterday he scratched his face, leaving a bloody mark. The day before he made his teacher carry him to the park because he would not get up off the floor and walk. Then, when the class was walking back from the park, he kept hitting another kid in front of him because he was angry the teacher made him walk. He runs in class and laughs when he is reprimanded. He has punched, kicked, bit, slapped, and pinched more than one of his teachers (luckily, he does not seem to react that way to his classmates). Almost every day last week he was removed from his classroom and had to sit with another staff member (the assistant director or the director)  because he was not cooperating in class. At home, his behaviors are not as intense. He gets angry when he doesn’t get his way, but he doesn’t often hit me. I don’t know what is going on with him, but I am worried and I know we need to do something for the daycare. I hope we are able to help him before he starts school next year. From dealing with his sister, I sense he might have a similar diagnosis, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Chica Marie’s mobile therapist will be able to work with Love Bug, so it will be someone he knows. I’m really hoping it will help.