Holiday's are Hard

Last Tuesday morning started out like all other weekday mornings. Only, when I woke up, I realized that Love Bug never came into my bedroom. I was alone in my bed. Maybe he was so tired, he had gone to bed late both nights over the weekend, so maybe he slept through the night. Win for Mom! I noticed Chica Marie was sleeping on my floor, which was seemed unusual, but I didn’t give it too much thought. I got up and went to put the dogs outside. We have a new foster dog. He is a Pomsky (Pomeranian-Husky) we named Winter. As I closed the door I heard someone whimpering, “Mommy?” I turned and saw the kids bedroom door was closed. Love Bug was trapped in their bedroom! The doorknob to the kids bedroom has been broken for a long time, and I got sick of replacing it. So, the door only opens from the outside. I opened the door and Love Bug flew into my arms, sobbing incoherently. He had been trapped in their room all night and I never heard him calling me. He was drenched in sweat and his own pee and trembling from fear and cold. I took him to the bathroom and pealed his soaked pajamas off of him while trying to comfort him as he continued to babble. I ran a warm bath with bubbles and encouraged him to soak to warm up. Soon, he began making sense, expressing his fear from the night being locked alone in their bedroom. For a full 15 minutes I could not leave his side. After he was bathed and his fear subsided, he went to sleep in my bed for a few minutes. Fortunately, he has been doing ok since this incident, but he is more adamant than ever that he needs to sleep in my bed.

The day went on, as they tend to do, but with Murphy at the helm. It was the CHOR Christmas party and the kids were so excited to go. Love Bug picked out a suit, with a tie, and he was tickled pink to wear his “handsome outfit.” We had a nice time at the party and came home just after 8 to find the dog had gotten into the trash. Not only was there rubbish all over the kitchen floor, but there were coffee grounds and left-over chocolate goop from creating chocolate covered pretzels. It was all smeared across the floor in a brown-black sticky mush that took an incredibly long time and various methods to clean up. I was exhausted and sent the kids to bed as soon as the floor was traversable.

I thought my night was over after sending Primero off with his friends to spend the night with them. I brushed my teeth and washed my face, preparing for bed. It was only after I washed my face that I realized my face lotion was missing. I searched for it in the bathroom but did not find it. Perplexed, I called Primero to see if he knew where it might have gone. He has this aggravating habit of taking something down to his bedroom to use it and not putting it back. “Oh a friend asked if I had any face lotion so I took it for them to use.” Are you kidding me?! “There wasn’t that much left.” It was the last of what I had and plenty for me to use that night. I was enraged. His inconsiderate act just boiled my blood and I snapped. Keep in mind, this is not the first time nor even the fifty-first time he has taken something and placed it elsewhere or left with it and I cannot find it when I want to use it. I lost my temper and stormed into his bedroom to reclaim all of my stuff. I found my eye pencil sharpener that had gone missing a few days ago. I found 5 nail clippers of various sizes. I found the sewing kit, the iron, and the body measuring tape I could not find a month ago. I carried three piles of found items back upstairs. I sent Primero photos of what I was taking, so it was on the up and up. I took his Ipod, stupidly, mostly just to piss him off. He came home screaming at me that I had no right to take anything and flung my face lotion at me. It was all my fault, you see. I crossed a line when I took stuff from his room, but it is perfectly fine for him to take things. My things. “Well, I never went into your room!” he yelled at me. I have always respected his room. But, he cannot continue taking my things and maintain my respect. If I crossed a line, he ran through it first. Sadly, things have not recovered between me and Primero. We had another blow up Friday night and haven’t spoken since then. I wish it didn’t, but this time of year stresses me out so much I’m beginning to dread it. Thankfully, it is soon over.

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Wrestling Momma

Love Bug started wrestling. His first practice was the week before Thanksgiving. He was really excited to go but then refused to go in the gym when we got there. I coaxed him through it and it has been a grueling process every single practice. I am with him for the duration of practice, trying to help him to focus and learn; I even sometimes get down on the mat, trying to show him what the coaches just explained. It is exhausting. Plus, I know next to nothing about wrestling! The coaches are great with him, but there are a lot of players and not enough coaches, so he doesn’t get as much time with them as necessary. I think he has anxiety about finding a partner to try the moves with. Last week we had found a nice little girl who was on her game and would demand Love Bug cooperate. I think, after seeing how hard it was to get Love Bug to join in, her parents told her to find a different partner. She refused to practice with Love Bug the last time we were there. I understand, from her parents perspective, they want her to learn which she cannot do if Love Bug refuses to do the moves. But, my heart aches for my little boy, who just needs some extra understanding to get it. Really, he might be more cooperative if he had a friend he feels comfortable doing the moves with. Getting along with peers is hard for him. He does really well with the coaches and then freezes up with the kids his age and size. The coaches think he has some natural talent and I think he would really like the sport if he could just learn the moves. I wish he could make a friend so he would feel comfortable learning the moves. But, that will take time and in the meantime, I have to try to help him as best as I can.

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Flying from the Nest

Lately I have been missing the not-so-long ago days when Primero used to sit on the couch with me at night and we would watch TV and show each other memes and things we found online. It has turned into an ache as he starts approaching the landing strip to fly out of the nest. He spends a lot of time working and some time going to school. When he isn't working or in class, he is with friends or on his phone alone in his bedroom. The disconnect is natural, at this point in his life. I just wasn't ready for it. My heart aches for by-gone times that I cannot get back. So, I try to take what I can get. It does hurt my heart sometimes when the little ones express missing him. They feel the disconnect as well. But, one day they will be the ones prepping for that leap from home, so it's best I show them this is all ok, just another stage in life. 

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Back to Hard Times

We are back into hard times. Behaviors are through the roof and I mean all of us. I practically had a nervous breakdown last week. Things are not great. Is it because we are moving into the holiday season? Is it just the natural swing of things? I don’t know. I don’t really care, to be honest. I only care about coming back into balance. Right now, everything we do feels like an arduous chore. Simple things, like getting ready in the morning, are goliath tasks that zap my energy and make me miserable, quite frankly. But, it doesn’t stop there. Evenings are just as miserable with mega fights and tantrums. And, it is all my fault and I need to fix it all. Or at least that is how it feels. Last Monday the case worker from CHOR, who has been helping with the post-permanency advocacy services, was visiting and it was a solid two hours of Love Bug at his worse. He wanted snacks. Incessant snacks, keep them coming or else he kicks, hits, tries to bite, climbs on the counters or kitchen table, screams and pretty much does everything in his power to make all our lives miserable. And, because he was getting a lot all of the attention, Chica Marie decided to add to the frustration by starting her own anger campaign. She threatened to run away, packing random things in her backpack and putting on her coat. This eventually turned into a screaming diatribe on what an awful mom I am and how I only give the boys attention. She has also been acting up in school and daycare and things are just one big hot mess right now. And I want out. People always ask me what I do for myself and I try to do things. I’ve joined a Women’s Empowerment group, I take time to do things by myself, the kids even went into respite last weekend. But, I feel like no matter what I do it isn’t enough to shake off this eternal fatigue I feel with the kids. Because no matter how great it is to be away from them, I have to come back to it and the horrid mess and the tantrums and it just doesn’t even seem worth it. I need like a solid month away to really make any kind of difference. How is this our life? I can’t stand my kids most of the time. I don’t like being around them for large chunks of the day. This is not ok! This is not how I wanted things to go! I am not enjoying motherhood the way I thought I would. I would like to tell you that my difficult kids make me a better mom, but that is a lie. It makes me a worse mom. I am impatient and frustrated most of the time. I feel like I cannot go on. I expend most of my energy and time trying to make things easier and better for my kids and it doesn’t seem to make much of a difference. I wish I could just go away. Wake up on a quite island by myself. No one screaming for breakfast. No one making any demands of me at all.  

Not Quite the Same Thing

I hate when a married parent says to me, “Oh, yeah I totally get how hard it is because my significant other works long hours/goes away on many work trips. So hard.” Um, no. Hard no. You do not understand being a single parent. Yes, it might be hard when your partner is not there for 5 out of 7 bedtime routines or when you are always the parent to stay home with a sick kiddo. It is hard being the one to prepare dinner 90% of the time or being the only parent available to check homework or run this kid to soccer and that kid to dance class. Parenting is hard even if you are not doing it solo. But, please do not tell me your partner working long hours is the same thing as being a single parent because it just isn’t. Do you have someone to bounce ideas off of even if it’s just the last 15 minutes before you fall asleep? Do you have someone to go to parent-teacher conferences with or at least share what you learned? Is there a second income coming into your home? Or someone staying home to save on daycare costs? Does your partner make time to help out, even if it is only once a week or a few times a month? If yes, then you have no idea what it is like to be a single parent. I do not have any of that. There is no one going to conferences with me or to talk about all the hard behaviors we deal with on a daily basis. There is no one who can tag me out when I need a breather or when I am sick. Anytime I am not with my children, I am paying someone else to be with them (unless Primero is available which is becoming less and less of a thing). No one else does the nightly routine. No one else takes off for doctor’s appointments or when a child is sick (or suspended, more likely). So, please I know you are trying to empathize with me, but do not tell me having a partner who works a lot is “just like” being single. You really have no idea. 

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Adoption is Complicated

“Honestly adopting kids is something I’ve always wanted to do. Yes having your own baby is beautiful, and I would wanna experience it. But I feel like taking someone in who don’t have no one so they can feel loved is so outstanding and is just as pure, ya feel.”

My cousin posted this on her Facebook page. Besides the atrocious grammar issues, it really rubbed me the wrong way. In light of November being National Adoption Awareness month I decided to not scroll on by and let it go. Instead I said the following “I understand the sentiment of this, however there are some difficulties in what is said. One, my children are my own. We don't share biology, but they are my children. Two, they are not "someone who don't have no one" this makes them sound like stray animals. They were not unwanted or unloved before they came to me. It's more complicated than that. The "outstanding" and "pure" feeling is probably not how adoptees would describe adoption. It is much more complex. The thing no one includes in quotes is the loss. My children suffered a terrible loss when they came to my home. It shouldn't be over-looked. Sorry, it's national adoption awareness month and I just wanted some reality to be attached to a quote like this....”

She didn’t respond, which doesn’t surprise me, but I think if anyone is going to promote adoption they should do it with their eyes wide-open to reality. There are beautiful sides to adoption but there are also hard truths that can’t be overlooked. I love my children, I’m glad they are my children, but in order for that to happen they had to be removed from their mother and that should never be forgotten.   

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Vehicle Freedom

Last month we went on two long-distance trips without Primero. Columbus Day weekend we took a trip to visit Esperanza in Buffalo. I have been missing her and while she keeps saying she will come down for a visit, it doesn’t happen. So, I found a relatively cheap AirBnB so we drive the six hours to visit her. Primero was supposed to go along with us, but he “forgot” to ask off and then couldn’t find anyone to replace him. So, I braved the trip by myself with much miss-giving. The kids did really good on our trip to Virginia Beach in August and the distance was about the same.

We had a beautiful, crisp autumn morning when we set out. At first, Love Bug did really good, thinking we would soon be there. After a short time, however, he lost his patience. We were not quite half-way into our journey, but I promised to stop and get something to eat. Love Bug napped a bit after we ate but was impatient and screaming when he woke up. The drive was gorgeous due to the leaves being in peak color in northern Pennsylvania and New York.

The ironic thing was, I had gotten a new phone the night before our trip because my old phone would not charge in the van. I discovered the morning we were leaving that my new phone was not compatible with any of the charging cords, so I couldn’t charge it either. Thankfully, the battery was on 9% by the time we reached our destination.

I had never stayed in an AirBnB before. We actually staying in a bedroom in the apartment of two men. We had our own bathroom, but the rest of the space was shared. It was a little awkward. Thankfully, the men were understanding with my children. They were not the least bit awkward, chatting and exploring and just being themselves. For me, it felt like more work trying to keep my kids in check the entire time. Luckily, it wasn’t a very long visit, just two nights.

Since Buffalo is close to Niagra, we decided to spend a day exploring the park and seeing the falls. Primero and I had visited the falls the last time we were in Buffalo to pick up Esperanza but we did not spend much time there. So, there was a special ticket which allowed us to visit the aquarium, museum, ride the Maid of the Mist and see the movie about the falls. If I had been by myself I would have spent a lot more time at each location, but Love Bug does not have that kind of patience. He almost didn’t go on the boat because he was afraid. It was such an awesome experience. You can really feel the power of the water on the boat as the mist pelts your face. It would have been a little more enjoyable if it has been a little warmer, but it was still so cool. We got pretty close to both falls and got pretty wet despite our bright pink ponchos. Mostly, we just had a great time being with Esperanza.

It was a little strange to go from being in her sparsely furnished apartment and back to the more elegant apartment where we were staying. We were definitely swinging between two different economic classes. Esperanza’s boyfriend didn’t want to buy much furniture until they find a more permanent place. So, we had the choice to stand or sit on the floor. The floor they explained had been covered in trash just a few months prior when they first moved in. Our visit ended abruptly when Esperanza’s boyfriend and his brother started smoking pot. Esperanza got very angry at them and said she was going to throw the brother, his girlfriend and their baby out because she felt it was disrespectful. She begged us to come back in the morning to say good-bye before we headed home. She didn’t want us to leave on a bad note.

I’m proud of Esperanza for making her way the best she knows how. I know things could have been easier for her if she had been willing to accept more help, but I also know she needs to go things her own way. I’m not sure how great the relationship is with her boyfriend, but I didn’t say anything. She is working an taking care of herself, which is good. She might come visit us for the holidays. I promised to pick her up in Philly, if she can get the bus or train there. I’m so glad we finally have a vehicle that can get us places when we want to go.

A few weeks after our visit to Buffalo we headed south to visit my sister. The trip wasn’t nearly as long, but more stressful because traffic anywhere near DC is a nightmare. We had a nice visit with my sister including a visit to the Air and Space museum near Dulles airport that has a full-size real (like it has been in space! More than once!) space shuttle. They were celebrating Halloween so it was much busier than usual but there was also more fun things for the kids, like candy and robots. My brother-in-law had gotten pumpkins for the kids to decorate and then we watched the Toy Story 4 movie. We left the next morning after breakfast and building Love Bug’s Lego space shuttle. It was a little stressful Sunday morning because the kids were too full of energy and not listening. It makes it hard for me to enjoy myself because I feel like I’m just running interference to make sure the kids don’t do something that sours our trip or worse, our relationship with our hosts. Hopefully, we will be able to visit my sister a little more often, now that we don’t have the added expense of a rental car.

No More Teenagers

Yesterday was Primero’s birthday. He is no longer a teenager. I definitely got teary-eyed thinking about how grown he is and how quickly it has happened. I miss the days when he used to snuggle on the couch and watch shows with me. I miss the times he spent with the family on our outings, no matter how grumpy he was about it. I don’t necessarily want to turn back the clock, because we are in a really good place right now, but I truly do miss those times with him. I feel like we have drifted apart slightly, but I think it’s the normal teen moving into adulthood drifting. I’m steeling myself for the day he decides he is ready to move out. I am one part super-excited because I feel like he’s on a good path and making good choices and I’m also terrified, worrying that his short time with me was enough to help him reach his potential. I’m sure all parents feel the same push-and-pull as their nearly-grown child spreads their wings and flies. It is especially poignant for me since I’ve only had a short six years to prepare emotionally for him to strike out on his own. I’m not saying he is totally ready, but I sense he is getting closer, so it is probably only a matter of time. I really want to throw him a big party next year for when he turns legal. A last hoorah, perhaps.

Our Zany Family

If you wanted to understand our family in a nutshell, I present to you two things that happened in the same week a few weeks ago that I feel really describe us. The first happening occurred while Primero was watching the kids and I was at my Women’s Empowerment group. He text me and I got the message after the group. When I got home he told me the whole story. He had been changing the screen doors to the glass doors for winter (I had actually asked him to fix the screens, since I had bought the replacements kits, but whatever) and went into the basement for a moment. When he came back upstairs Love Bug gleeful told him he was watching a movie. Primero checked the TV and discovered Love Bug bough the new Aladdin movie. I showed Love Bug one time how to use the remote and he has been controlling the TV and cable box ever since. I wasn’t too happy he bought the movie, but at least it was something I had wanted to watch.

The second event happened a few days later. We had just gotten home from work/school and Chica Marie opened the closed door to her bedroom to change into clothing for cheerleading practice. She came running back out exclaiming, “Mommy! Melodie (one of our cats) is eating bacon in Love Bug’s bed!” Huh? One, how did the cat get into the room if the door was closed. Two, where did the cat find bacon and not just bacon, but cooked bacon? I mean, I get why she was eating it in bed, she was just living the dream. I rolled my eyes and went to clean up the mess, thinking, “sure this fits.” It’s the wacky stuff like this that seems to define our zany little family.

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My Birthday

My mother never sent me a happy birthday text. My birthday was the first. I took the day off of work and spent it treating myself. After I dropped the kids off at school, Primero surprised me with a very thoughtful gift. He had seen how my old make-up case was falling apart, so he bought me a new one. He also bought me a new make-up pallet with gorgeous colors. When I started making myself breakfast he insisted on taking me out instead. So, we went to a local crepe shop and discovered his cousin works there. After delicious pumpkin crepes I had a pedicure and massage, then went to see the Downton Abbey movie by myself. I’ve never gone to see a movie by myself, although now I don’t know why. I love the movie. Just being back with the characters felt like going home. The plot was well done, but really it was just all of wonderful characters doing their thing that I found delightful. I hope the movie is released on DVD so I can watch it again and again. Once the movie ended it was time for me to pick up the kids. We had pizza for dinner because I was going to the Women’s Empowerment group that evening. I had made lavender cupcakes to celebrate my birthday. My mom posted a happy birthday message on Facebook. So, people could see it. I think treating myself on my birthday needs to become my thing. It was a truly great day.

Misdiagnosis

This afternoon I got the results of Love Bug’s neuro-psych evaluation. The man who facilitated the various tests does not believe Love Bug is on the autism spectrum. He feels Love Bug has pretty intense ADHD, ODD (dammit), and Intermittent Explosive Disorder. Fun. He said he was really looking for some ASD signs, but feels like the social difficulties Love Bug has is because of his behavior, not because the wiring in his brain causes him difficulties. He found Love Bug to be quite smart, being in the 90^th percentile in more than a few areas. But, when Love Bug did not enjoy one of the testing methods, he performed low average or less-than average. This was not a surprise to me. On the one hand, I feel validated because I didn’t readily believe Love Bug was autistic. But, on the other hand, I feel like we are losing a community. There are Autism walks, and societies and special classes at school. There is nothing as active like that for ADHD, ODD or IED. Even more concerning, the only other special education class available to Love Bug would be the dreaded Emotional Support classroom. This would mean changing schools. And I fear this labeling him and limiting his potential. He is smart! I know this about him. And I want him to be challenged because I see his potential. He has a mind for mechanical things, he could be an engineer! But, if he doesn’t do well in school, he might not reach his potential. Today was just the preliminary report. I will receive the final report in a few weeks. I need to be able to speak to his wrap around service provider. We need to revisit the possible medications for Love Bug. I feel like we are starting all over again.

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Finding Help in Random Places

I mentioned previously how a human services training I attended for work allowed me to help Primero. The training also put me in touch with a community liaison from the mental health provider of the kids’ insurance. I was able to express my frustrations in trying to find help for Love Bug over the summer and how I felt the agency we were working with at the time did not really help. In fact, I felt like leaving them for a different agency was part of the solution we needed. I know the mobile therapist we worked with did not really know what to do with kids on the spectrum. He admitted that to me. When I questioned why they did not list ASD on Love Bug’s file, he indicated it didn’t needed to be listed but it did inform his therapies. Only it didn’t. And the further we have moved away from the agency, the more evident it has become to me that they were part of the problem. Love Bug might not understand social interactions like a neurotypical child, but he is sensitive to how people act and react to him.  He is adept at picking up on the people who do not accept him in all his eccentric glory. He was picking up on the mobile therapist’s evident frustration and dare I say, dislike, of him. Me, on the other hand, I was drowning in the negativity. I would feebly try to point out Love Bug’s good points only to be shot down, in front of other people, and belittled for not choosing to medicate my child. None of this was helping us. None of this was making things any better for anyone in our family. In the thick of it, I couldn’t see the way out. I held on tightly to my beliefs about my child. He is capable of more than we give him credit for. Yes, he struggles and yes he needs help. But, he is not and was not the daemon spawn the previous mobile therapist made him out to be. He is not dangerous or maliciously focused on hurting someone, like the mobile therapist told the school during our IEP meeting, And, he is not ODD. I want that off his records because while he is defiant, he is not doing it spitefully, he is refusing because he cannot comply. In speaking to the representative who was at the training, she encouraged me to set up a meeting with the insurance company, the new agency and maybe even the school to see if we can get everyone on the same page. This is in the works for after Love Bug completes his neuro-psych evaluation. The insurance company also initiated a review of the agency, basically asking them to explain themselves and treatment of Love Bug and our family. I wasn’t looking to get anyone in trouble, but I see this agency showing up a Autism events and I would hate for another family to experience what we did. I have received a letter about the results of the inquiry, but I haven’t yet opened it. I guess it doesn’t so much matter what the insurance company decides, since we are with a new agency for both the kids. Love Bug deserved better. All children deserve to be treated with respect and dignity, no matter how defiant or troublesome their behaviors might be

Clout

Like a typical teenager, Primero does not always see the ways that I help him. He has previously expressed how his biological family would be there for him if he were ever in a physical altercation and I think he doesn’t necessarily think of the ways I am there for him. But, I recently had an opportunity to help him out, twice. Last month I went to a training at the county services building intended for new employees of the human services programs. I had attended many moons ago when I was a new employee and our acting supervisor decided it might a good time for a refresher. I figured I would be out of the office for two half-days and that was good enough for me. It turns out, this training helped me in two significant ways in my personal life. One of those ways was making a connection with a Juvenile Probation Officer. After his presentation I asked him if they ever allow students to shadow in his office and he said I should email him to set it up. Before I sent the email, I text Primero to see if he would be interested. I didn’t want to waste my time if Primero was not going to follow through. He text back a very excited affirmative and after I emailed my contact I put them in touch with one another. A few weeks ago Primero spent the day in the office and he learned so much and was very much excited about continuing his education to have a similar career. I was so happy to be able to help him make that connection. The second way I was able to help him was with an issue at work. Generally, I stay out of his work life, other than what he tells me or some general advise. But, he asked me to get involved because he was upset about how a supervisor yelled at him and treated him poorly. I was cautious about addressing the issue, but decided I would send an email from my work email address, which is more professional and official than my private email. I blind carbon copied Primero so he could see what I said.  

“Good afternoon Supervisor - We have never met, but I have heard a lot of good things about you. My son, Primero, has been working in the escape rooms and game room since December. I’ve been so proud of him for getting this job and excelling the way he has. I know he is learning valuable job skills working for your organization. Ordinarily, I offer him advise and a listening ear, choosing to not engage in his employment concerns. However, when he brought home his latest concern, I felt I needed to get involved. Apparently, he had an altercation with a manager during his shift yesterday and I am concerned with how strongly he was addressed. Now, I know my son is sometimes a boundary-pusher. He explained he was being written up because he was not in his work station as was expected. He accepted full responsibility for being away from his assigned station and was not arguing against getting written up, he knows it is justified. The concern comes from how he was addressed, in a very non-professional manner. I am sure it can be hard keeping track of so many different work stations and employees, however my son was screamed at and humiliated after accepting responsibility for his actions. This, to me, is highly uncalled for. I suspect an employee of contemporary age to the manager would not have been degraded as my son was, for the minor offence he committed. I sincerely hope this matter will be addressed and become a small blip in an otherwise untarnished work record. I know Primero enjoys his job and I also know he is a social butterfly who needs to learn how to keep work and his social life at arm’s length. I am proud of him for being able to stand up for himself, but I wanted you to be aware of my concerns as a parent. I invite any discussion you feel would be necessary going forward. My personal cell phone number is 000-000-0000. Thank you for your time.”

It turned into a very positive experience for Primero. The big boss recognized the reaming-out was uncalled for and talked to Primero about it. He also addressed it with the supervisor who admitted he needed to keep his anger in check. He apologized to Primero and everyone was able to continue working together positively. Primero was tickled pink that the clout of my work email address (it’s a .gov email) seemed to drive the big boss into action. I’m not sure if my status as a grunt worker for the Department of Labor and Industry was really the driving factor or simply because I was a mom reaching out about my kid, but in the end, it worked out for Primero. And, now I think he can see I have more to offer than making sure he does his chores and pushing him to stay in school.

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Expert Needed

People have told me I am the expert when it comes to my children, but I am not. How can I be the expert when I have no idea what to do? I don’t know how to get Love Bug to cooperate and accomplish simple everyday tasks. How am I the expert when I have no idea how to help my daughter with her internal struggles and issues? I don’t know if we are coming or going, if we are up or down. I am holding it together with duct tape and sheer determination. If there is expertise in stubbornness, then yes, perhaps I am an expert. But, when it comes to helping my children, my only expertise lies in being able to describe what is going on, what might trigger them, and how the fall-out looks from my perspective. I have no clue how to stop it or make any of it go differently than I did the last time. I've read books and I am now reading one more; "The Explosive Child" by Dr. Ross Green. Maybe this will be the key to true expertise. Fingers crossed....

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This Is Love Bug

Love Bug is not liking school. He had a pretty bad day last week, which prompted a call from the teacher. She asked what I do to help him. Lady, if I knew what to do, you don’t think I’d be informing everyone and their mother? I did write her a list of things about Love Bug in a notebook. Maybe it wasn't enough? I was trying to keep it simple, just as an introduction to my little guy, not a comprehensive volume. I meant it for us to pass back and forth. She sent it home a few times and now kept it. Unless Love Bug lost it. But, here is the list I wrote to her for the first day of school.

 

This is Love Bug

 

Love Bug’s Strengths:

Love Bug is very smart at figuring out how things work. He is chatty, friendly, and fairly out-going. Love Bug is a hugger! His nickname at home is Love Bug. He is getting better at using his words to ask for what he wants. His favorite things are trains and he can turn any object into a train or train tracks. Love Bug is full of energy and when he wants to learn something, he can be very engaged. He asks a lot of questions, sometimes about things you hadn’t ever considered.  Love Bug is funny and has a great sense of humor.  He has a terrific memory.

 

Love Bug’s likes and dislikes:

Love Bug likes physical touch and is still learning how to ask for it appropriately. He likes holding hands and feeling skin-to-skin by rubbing his hands over someone’s arms. He will climb onto the lap of a trusted adult, forgetting to ask first. As mentioned above, Love Bug loves trains. He is not fond of arts and crafts and refuses to write letters or numbers. He hates cheese (he will tell people he is allergic, but he is not) and loves chips. He likes when someone reads to him, but sometimes gets distracted by questions he asks. He does not like waiting.

 

Love Bug’s triggers:

Love Bug gets triggered when he is not allowed to be first in line. He sometimes still struggles with transitions, but does better with timed prompts (5 minutes left, 10 minutes left, etc.) and being told ahead of time “you have x number of minutes to do this activity.” Often times not getting what he wants causes Love Bug to react negatively. I try to focus on what he can do (no, we cannot go outside, but we can play xyz game, something like that). He likes to help, so sometimes that can distract him from being upset about not getting his way (we can’t go outside, but can you help me put the blocks away). Being silly with him is also a way to distract him (funny voices, telling a silly joke, and he loves being tickled). When he is getting agitated, he will stick the pointer finger of his left hand in his mouth.

 

Safety issues:

When Love Bug gets really worked up, he does try to elope. A lot of it is posturing and getting you to chase him, but he does sometimes just run without thinking. He also sometimes throws things when he is escalated.  

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Shared Son

Primero has been spending a lot of time with his friend's family. It's something a lot of teens do but, in addition to my concerns about the age difference between him and his friend (she will be 15 the end of this month), I have also discovered he calls her mother "mom." I've actually heard him do it, just before he put me on a video chat with her. I think he thinks it's a gag. Only, when I talked to her (she does not speak English and Primero speaks only a little Spanish), she jokingly said he wasn't just my son but that we shared him. He was "our" son. I guess for ordinary people, this would be just a silly joke, haha what a lark. But, for me, it does not feel that way. It gutted me to hear him call her mom, to refer to her as "Mom" to his friend. Our family therapist suggested I try talking to him about it but I just can't. The pain from the past makes me feel too fragile to bring this up as something that bothers me. To be honest, I just couldn't take him acting like it's nothing, like I'm an idiot for feeling some type of way about it. He wants me to be friends with his friends mom, but I have thus far avoided meeting her. It isn't her fault, but when she said he was her son too, I just couldn't stomach sitting in front of her and acting like I was totally cool with that. Maybe I am an idiot. Maybe I am jealous. Maybe I just feel like I've worked so hard to earn the title she was given so freely. Primero has lived with me for five and a half years. He has been adopted for nearly three years. And yet, he still introduces me as his adoptive mom and never, not once, has he called me "Mom." He met this woman like three months ago and she get's called "Mom." What's not to love about that?

Previous Co-worker

Today, after a morning training, I went to the funeral of a former co-worker. He had retired a few years ago when the county didn't take the contract that covered his position. He really didn't want to retire but he also didn't want a different job. He loved his job as a workshop facilitator. Sadly, last week he suffered a heart attack and passed away suddenly. It was a shock because he was very fit, having been a ref for various sports for many years. There were many people attending the service. We thought maybe he had been cremated because there was no casket, just many pictures and mementos from his life. We discovered he had been an organ donor. Another co-worker and I attended the funeral and met with many other former co-workers. It was a sad occasion to see some wonderful people.

Remembering 9/11

I thought after 18 years this day would not impact me as much as it does. I thought it was Tuesday today because it was Tuesday 18 years ago. I remembered the beautiful bright blue skies and white puffy clouds. And I remember the terror and fear watching on TV what was happening. I was a sophomore in college, sitting in Spanish class when the first plane hit the tower. I was in a history class when the professor stated, "I guess you've all heard by now about the plane hitting the World Trade Center." I thought he was talking about a small bi-plane getting stuck in the weather equipment on the top of the tower. I had no idea. After class, I went back to my dorm room and found my roommate with the TV on, two very strange occurrences. My roommate was never in during the day and she never put the TV on. "Are you seeing this?" she asked incredulously. I thought it was a movie, as I stared unblinking at the two towers with flames and black smoke billowing into the azure sky. Before I could grasp what was happening, the tower came crashing down.

On the radio this morning driving into work, they talked about an article from the Atlantic about how mundane decisions made a world of difference on 9/11. I've been dwelling on it all day, how these random decisions, made without any understanding, changed the course of someone's life, literally life or death. How often do we make decisions that might have such a drastic outcome?

On the ride home tonight, the little ones and I talked about why they had a moment of silence at 8:46 this morning. I told them, in an age appropriate way, what I remembered. And I told them, the best thing we can do it to never forget. I know I never will.

Stereotypical

My family could not be described as stereotypical, however, when we went back-to-school shopping my kiddos were the quintessential gender stereotypes. Love Bug needed new sneakers for school. He is not a fan of “tight” shoes, so I found a few sneakers that had the expendable laces and Velcro closures at the top. He had to choose from a blue pair or a black pair. He asked for black and we asked he sales associate for his size. Chica Marie was going to get a pair of flats because she already had sneakers in good shape. Or boots. She wanted the ankle-high boots. So, we got a pair in her size. Love Bug sat down, tried on his sneakers, declared they fit and he was done. Chica Marie tried on the boots but said they were too small (I did the toe test – you know, the one where you make the kid stand up straight then poke their toes through the shoe?) but they seemed to be fine. We asked for the next half-size up, only they didn’t come in half-sizes (what kind of shoe, besides flip-flops, does not come in half-sizes?). So, we tried the next whole size. Chica Marie said they fit, only I thought they looked sloppy and too big. When I easily snatched it off her foot, I proved my point. So, I suggested she try a different shoe, since no size in the boot seemed to feel comfortable to her. Meanwhile, Love Bug, content with his new sneakers, decided to crawl under the seats and shoe displays declaring he was invisible. I heard a chuckle behind me and when I turned I saw a man probably close to my dad’s age sitting in a chair waiting on his wife/girlfriend/significant other who was trying on a stack of shoes. “I too wish I were invisible” he said winking at Love Bug. I heard a murmur of agreement from another man across the room, also waiting on a female companion to decide on what foot ware to purchase. As I turned my attention back to Chica Marie, who brought over a pair of flats, I smiled to myself. Love Bug was being the typical male, find shoes, finish shopping. And Chica Marie tried on three different shoes in varying sizes before making a decision. I remember listening to a TED talk which expressed how consumers are not necessarily happier with more choices. Love Bug also seemed to fit this mold. Regardless, we managed to buy both kids shoes and Love Bug entertained the waiting men. An no one had a melt-down.  

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Windshield or Bug

Somedays you are the windshield and somedays you are the bug. Yesterday was a pretty buggy day. At work, an attempt made by myself and another coworker to uncover a fellow coworker who appears to be abusing time out of the office by taking exorbitantly long lunches and breaks, was met with a prove it attitude. This is how government employees get a bad rap. I felt totally disheartened after the conference call with our reginal director. Nothing will be done and this person will continue to take 90 minute lunches when we are only allowed 30 minutes. Meanwhile, the rule followers like me will get more and more disillusioned and demoralized. Time to look for another job, it seems.

I usually leave work ish at work, so I figured the rest of the day would improve. After work, the kids and I went to the back-to-school night so the kids (and me) could meet their teachers. I planned for us to have dinner afterwards, since I didn't think we would be there all that long. We found Chica Marie's classroom fairly easily, after getting a map in the cafeteria. She is on the second floor of the school this year. According to the map, Love Bug was also on the second floor. Only, we could not find his room. A different teacher helped us figure out that Love Bug's teacher and another teacher switched rooms. So, Love Bug is actually downstairs. We walk into the room to meet his teacher and start chatting with her. I mention something about attending the kindergarten orientation with Love Bug the next day and she looks at me like I have 3 heads.  Apparently, the special education classrooms, like autism support, do not have orientation. In fact, the kids start a full day right on day one, while their regular education classmates are only there for 2 hours. I was upset by this for many reasons, but I tried to piece things together, including how I need to drop this kids off at different places in the mornings. And still figure out how to get to work on time. We trekked back upstairs to see where third graders enter the building in the morning. And then back downstairs. We bumped into Love Bug's mobile therapist, who has three kids in the school. She reminded me we would meet at our place at 7 for a ISTP meeting with the insurance company representative on the phone. After talking to multiple staff about the whole no kindergarten orientation thing - and being told I should just go for a mani-pedi since I took the day off - we ended up in the classroom of the teacher Chica Marie had for the last two years. She was psyched to have Love Bug just down the hall from her. And she wanted both kids to come visit with her when they could. The teacher who helped write the IEP came to find me, with the kindergarten teacher and eventually the principal. There was a mistake. Love Bug was supposed to be assigned to a regular education teacher. So, they suggested I let him where he was and attend the kindergarten orientation solo.

As we were leaving, the mobile therapist called. It was already 7 and we were not home. We walked to the school, so we hurried home. The mobile therapist was waiting on our porch. We rushed inside and tried calling the insurance representative but she didn't answer. We were too late.

After the mobile therapist left, I made a quick dinner. I got the kids bathed and fashioned Chica Marie's hair into the style she asked for. Then we left to pick up Primero. He had text me earlier in the day, asking to get picked up after work. He mentioned later he might be sent home earlier. He never confirmed, so I went to get him at the regular time. I was slightly agitated because it was getting late for the kids. I text him we were there. He said he wasn't ready to leave but didn't respond when I asked if we should wait or just go home. We waited for 30 minutes before he finally text to say he had a ride home. I was so angry. We got into a fight when he got home.

The windshield won. I was the bug, all squished and depleted, stuck without hope, buffeted by the winds pushing me further into the hard place.

Is Adoption Worse than Death?

At the women’s empowerment group earlier this week one woman admitted she had an abortion earlier in the day. The previous week she expressed concern over her ex finding out she was expecting and trying to gain custody of their son and the unborn baby. She professed feeling more capable to be able to handle two kids on her own, after hearing some of the other single mom’s talk about it. But, circumstances changed or her fear became more realized and she decided to terminate the pregnancy. I will be honest, it was hard to hear. But, the hardest part to swallow was when she said, “And I guess I could have had my baby be adopted or whatever, but I could never do that to my child.” And so never giving them the option to live was a better choice than adoption in her mind. I know that sounds judgmental, but she was sitting in a room with a woman who found out at 44 years old she had been adopted and two adoptive mothers. Hearing her rate adoption as a worse fate than death felt judgmental to me. I am probably over-sensitive to this because I have a hard time accepting abortion, but her words stung. In my opinion, my children are not better off not being here than they are being adopted. Sure, things are not easy and yes, there are life-long ramifications for people who were adopted. But, does that mean it is better for them all to have not existed in the first place? Most likely this woman did not mean her statement to sound like it did. She was probably referring to what a hardship adoption can be on the adopted person specifically, as well as the mother making that decision. I’m sure she was also thinking of the child she has at home and how that might be a tough pill for the adopted child to swallow, since there really isn’t an easy way to explain to a child why one sibling was kept and one was adopted. I was glad her statement was made at the end of the group meeting because I didn’t have to sit an mull over it in front of the group. I had shared briefly about my infertility, but to be honest, this latest development makes me feel less like I want to share any more of my pain in never being able to be pregnant. Which is sad because my biggest revelation of the night was realizing that I was still angry about my infertility and that I had turned that anger into self-loathing and I probably over-eat as a way to punish myself.   

Invisible Grief

A fellow blogger posted about how so many women carry on with life while simultaneously miscarrying their pregnancy. She suggests the secrecy about miscarriage is partially to blame for the notion that a woman must “carry on” even while miscarrying. It made me think about how we as a society handle invisible grief. We have traditions and societal processes for when a loved one dies. The loss is evident, since that person is no longer present. But, when a loss is not visible to the naked eye, it seems the societal expectation is that the grief should be equally invisible.

 

I haven’t really thought about infertility much lately. But, her post made me think about how I grieved my loss when I didn’t actually, physically lose anything. I was never pregnant. Not once. So, I wasn’t mourning the loss of a pregnancy. But, I was still grieving a loss that was immensely personal and totally hidden from the world. It did not make the grief process easier to keep it to myself. It did not help me to come to terms with the fact that my body was not capable of performing it’s supposed biological purpose. In trying to keep my grief to myself, I found it poured out in ways I didn’t intend. On more than one occasion I sobbed going to and returning from a baby shower. I have never touched a pregnant belly for fear I would have an unsightly melt-down. At times I was snarky or impatient with friends or perfect strangers who would ask questions about my family planning or subject me to tales of their own. I can’t be sure, but I think keeping my infertility and my grief hidden made it harder for me to move through the process to healing. Loss is loss and it is never easy, even if what was lost was not something or someone tangible. I work with people who have lost their jobs and I see the same pains of grief etched in their faces. Loss is part of the human experience and we could all do with a little more understanding and a little less pressure and expectation that grief be manifest in the same way for each person and each situation. No one grieving should be expected to simply carry on as if nothing has happened. Everyone should have the space and time to mourn their loss in a healthy way that makes sense to them, without the side-eyes from anyone else or the pressure to “get over it.” Grief might be invisible but it weighs profoundly on the individual. At the end of the day, everyone is doing the very best they can do on this road called life.

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Women's Empowerment Group

At the recommendation of my therapist and the family therapist Primero and I see, I joined a five week-long Women’s Empowerment Group. We had our first meeting Tuesday night and there are seven of us in the group. I am one of the youngest from what I can tell, but beside that one difference, there are many commonalities. There is another adoptive mom in the group, there is a woman who was adopted, there are several women who have been divorced and I think all the women have or are raising children. I was very emotional in the group, which I did not expect. We did an exercise telling ourselves we are enough and many of the other women felt like it spoke to them, they felt more content after the exercise, but I did not. And that made me so sad. I want to be enough, I want to feel like enough, but I do not feel like I am enough in most situations in my life. Before we did the exercise we talked about how we deserve to be happy or content. I want to be happy and content, but deserve? Do I deserve it? I’m not so sure. My logical brain says I do, but my emotional being points to all the reasons I might not be worthy or deserving. A few of the women commented on how strong I am and I acknowledged their compliments, but being strong is all I know. And I am tired. And I am lonely. And I want to be more than strong. We were encouraged to start small, one small thing to move us in the right direction. So, I bought a chai tea and iced coffee on my way home to surprise Primero. And I took a warm bath with Epsom salt to relax. Only, Love Bug would not go to bed and he ended up getting in the tub with me. He thought it was great fun but my bath was less relaxing than I thought it would be. I will be returning to the group again next week, but I am nervous about being so emotional again. Hopefully, I can keep it together.