A Greater Understanding

Dealing with rejection from my mom has given me some new insight into how things might feel for Primero and the little ones in regards to their own mothers. I have a greater understanding just how hard it is to deal with the rejection and also the desire to keep trying, to keep thinking you can do something to appease them, to get back into your mother’s good graces. It is heart-breaking and so hard. And I’m a grown up! How much more difficult it must be as a young child or a teenager. It really makes you feel like crud; if your own mother can’t love you, doesn’t want to be around you, then who would? It really deals a blow to your self-esteem and self-worth to feel like you have done something so bad to disappoint your mother and drive her away to the point she wants nothing to do with you. And yet, my mom is ill just as Primero’s mother is ill and the little one’s mother is ill. In fact, they are all suffering from different mental health issues and life situations, which is more the driving factor than anything me or the kid have done or not done. Still, it is hard to not take it personally, it is hard to fight the tendency to take it all inside you and make you devalue yourself because the one person who should always have your back just doesn’t. It is a hallow and aching pain that nothing can fill. I never really understood that before but now I do. Now I understand no matter how much other people might love you there is always that broken spot, that dark hole that only the full, unfettered love of your mother can fill. Me and my kiddos are the walking wounded, but we will heal one another as much as we can. At least we have each other....  

First Birthday Not in Foster Care

Today my precious Love Bug celebrates his first birthday with me as his official, legal mom. Luckily for me, this is his fourth birthday we have been able to celebrate together. Every year on his birthday I am reminded of the day we met in the empty hospital room. I can see the nurse wheeling him into the room and I caught my breath when I was finally able to lay eyes on the tiny sleeping baby with a head full of long dark hair. Love Bug was such a peanut and I was not terribly experienced with newborns (I had two infants in foster care briefly), but as I gently put on the outfit I lovingly chose for him, I inhaled the baby scent and promised him I would take care of him as long as he was with me. That tiny little peanut has grown into my little momma’s boy and now when I call him my baby he immediately corrects me, “I not a baby! I Love Bug!” His nickname fits him, as he is my most snuggly child who loves nothing more than sitting on the sofa next to me watching Thomas the Train. Even though he is no longer a tiny peanut, his favorite spot is still nose to my neck snuggled under my chin on my left shoulder. It is where he most often drifted off to sleep as a baby and where he still seeks comfort when he’s hurt, sick, or upset. Given we’ve spent four years together, it’s hard for me to imagine life without Love Bug. My train-loving boy is my sunshine. He is goofy and sweet and he has managed to capture my heart with his pure innocence and resilience. Here’s to many, many more birthdays to celebrate together!  

Cutting Ties

“I think at this time I do not want either of you to bother with me anymore. Sorry, don’t call or text me anymore. I can’t pretend like everything is ok. I understand you both have your own lives. Enjoy them. I always thought we had close mother/daughter relationships, but I was wrong. Take care. Good bye.” 

After the previous text exchange I had with my mom I tried just letting things cool off. I talked to my dad this past weekend and asked why Mom was mad at me. He said she thought I was mad at her. So, I thought I would try again. My dad told me she was going back to work yesterday, so I thought I would see how her first day back went. Her response was “tiring.” I tried to engage her some more, saying I’m sure it was hard to get back into the swing of the routine, but she didn’t respond. Then, about an hour after our text conversation she sent the above text to me and my sister. My sister had been out of the country meeting up with her husband who was finishing one of his graduate courses in Croatia. I don’t know what beef she had with my sister and my sister text me so confused as to what happened. Apparently, she had called my mom earlier and they spoke briefly but nothing was said to warrant this cutting of ties.  

I cannot begin to truly understand what my mother is going through dealing with cancer for a second time so soon after battling breast cancer. I can sympathize and try to be supportive, but I don’t get it in the visceral sense like someone who has gone through it. My mom has always been on the passive-aggressive side, but ever since she got sick it’s been so hard. She is angry and bitter and it doesn’t seem like I can do whatever it is she thinks I should be doing. She cannot fight with her cancer, so it seems she has chosen me and my sister as her targets to direct her anger. I wish she would find help; see a therapist or find a support group. Instead, she is pushing away her family in a very cruel way. How can we be close if she cannot see the damage she has done? Her reality is one-sided, making us the aggressors and herself the innocent victim. I know she has talked to friends about how her daughters do not care about her, how we are not there for her in her time of need. We are the bad guys. 

I text my sister about it and we decided I would respond to the group text. “We love you. We are so sorry you feel this way. Both Sister and I want to do what we can to support you. What you are going through isn’t easy. What specific ways can we show you more support?” I don’t think either one of us really believes she will respond, but at least we can know we tried.

Mass Destruction

Are my children destructive or just careless? Is it their ages or am I not teaching them to be responsible with their things? These were the thought ping-ponging through my head all weekend. I discovered, as we were making their beds after cleaning up their room, that the wee ones had drawn on the wall and ceiling beside and above Chica Marie’s bed. I made her scrub it off, since there was writing and I know Love Bug does not spontaneously write letters. This was after we dumped all their toys and arranged them, something we do every six weeks or so because the kiddos do not keep their toys arranged and in order. We found a lot of broken toys or toys missing pieces and some chewed on by the dogs. I was rather ruthless in tossing out the broken, chewed on toys, mostly hoping to clear the clutter. As the trash bag quickly filled up, I thought of all the money spent on these things that the children just didn’t seem to appreciate. But, it isn’t just their toys. The window shades in their bedroom and the living room are in tatters. Yes, they were cheap and plastic, but that isn’t a reason to break them apart and leave them looking like we live in a war zone. I discovered Chica Marie let a dog chew up one of her sandals that she has barely worn simply because she carelessly left it lying on the floor (yes, the dogs chewing on things is also a problem but one I am also hopeless as solving). I feel like our house is in perpetual disarray and I simply cannot keep up with the damage and decay. Part of the problem is my inability to diy and part of the problem is that I seem to be the only one in the house trying to put things in order against 3 kids, 3 dogs, and 3 cats who do not share my penchant for cleanliness. I feel like I spend the better part of my weekend cleaning up the things I didn’t have a chance to handle during the hectic week days. And I hate it. I don’t like cleaning, although I like things to be clean. I really don’t like cleaning when I seem to turn around and find the once clean spot sullied by uncaring kids and critters. But, cleanliness is one thing, the destruction of things is another, even more troubling issue for me. I feel like our house might collapse on our heads just because I cannot seem to mitigate the damage. Maybe, as the kids get older, it won’t feel like there is something broken, colored on, ripped, torn, or falling apart everywhere I turn.  Fingers crossed….   

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

The Van Ban

Ever since I evicted Toxic Friend from our house the end of April, Primero and I have been on a vitriolic roller coaster ride of emotions, fighting, and finding our place in this new normal. Our recent squabble came this past weekend. Primero has consistently been going to Toxic Friend’s house on a daily basis. This requires an hour walk, one-way across town. On Saturday I allowed Primero to take the van. He left early in the morning and promised to return by 12:30. It was such a nice day on Saturday so I decided to take the kids on a walk down the local bike path. Initially we were going to take the dogs, but I couldn’t manage three dogs and two kids by myself, so we decided to leave the dogs at home. We set out before 11 and walked the short distance to the beginning of the path. Love Bug was not sure he was enjoying the walk and spent a lot of time asking to go home. Chica Marie was relishing stretching her legs, jogging, and talking to anyone who crossed our path. Once we decided to turn around and head home, Love Bug seemed to enjoy the walk a bit more. I fully expected to see the van parked in front of the house by the time we got home just before 2 pm. My expectations were met with bitter disappointment. Not only did Primero not come home by the time he promised, but he didn’t even bother to message me about his change in plans. I was quite displeased. I text him and he eventually responded that he had fallen asleep and would be home by 4.


Rewind for a moment to the night before. Primero had borrowed the van to take his Toxic Friend to meet his ride to his new job. Toxic Friend forgot his sneakers in the van, so after he came home Primero ended up having to trek 45 minutes out to Toxic Friend’s job to give him the proper footwear. The kids and I ate dinner and walked to the park. Primero had sent me a few text messages extolling the virtues of Toxic Friend and how he was there for Primero when we were fighting, totally over-looking the fact that we were fighting because of Toxic Friend. After running his errand, Primero found us at the park and actually played with the kids for a few minutes before we all went to the grocery store together to get a few things. That night Primero sat with me on the couch and we watched an old favorite show together. He even laid his head on my lap and asked me to play with his hair. It was like old times.


So, when Primero came home from Toxic Friend’s house on Saturday we talked about how he could not take the van, promise to be home by a certain time and then not show up and not contact me. I said he was going on a van ban and he said he already promised to take Toxic Friend to meet his ride to work and if he didn’t take him Toxic Friend would miss his ride because it was already too late for him to walk. I begrudgingly agreed, making Primero promise to perform another task (repainting the front porch posts) to make up for it. I made the kids dinner and waited to make Primero his share when he got home. I knew how long it should take to go where he was going and yet Primero wasn’t home yet. So, I called him. It turns out he drove to pick up his sister, without telling me, and they were at the gas station buying junk food when I called him. I let Primero know his van ban now just got longer.


Despite the car issues, Primero decided to clean the living room, including taking the throw rug outside and scrubbing it. We worked together to get the pet smell out of the rug and then carried the heavy, water-logged rug to the backyard to hang it over the fence to dry. After I bathed the children and put them to bed, to my surprise, Primero queued up our show again and we watched it together. It was like old times, briefly, but I was enjoying having my Primero back. As the night was drawing to a close, Primero announced he was going to leave before 7 am to walk to Toxic Friend’s house (because he needs to be there by the time Toxic Friend gets home from work - because, you know he's a 50's housewife and he needs to make himself look pretty and meet Toxic Friend at the door with a drink...) and planned on sleeping over, coming home Monday evening. This made me upset and, much to my chagrin, I acted like a total turd.  


I didn’t sleep well and I was awake to hear when Primero left at 7:08 am on Sunday. He had text me around 3 am stating I was being unfair and why did I care what he did during his summer break. I responded briefly and we didn’t speak again until Monday evening after I was home from work when Primero text stating he was spending the night again. I almost text back offering to pack his things and drop them off at Toxic Friend’s apartment, but I deleted the text before I sent it. Instead I said nothing. I talked a bit to Esperanza about it and she mentioned Primero complained to her about being hot (they only have one window AC unit and it didn’t cool the room Primero stayed in) and hungry. I shrugged and suggested he come home to our 74° house where there was food to eat and he could sleep in his own bed. Primero chose to stick it out.  


Before going to sleep Tuesday night, I text Primero an apology  and explained this sudden change with him staying out of the house for days on end wasn’t easy for me but I would try harder. He responded positively saying he knew even though we might fight, we are family and we would work it out. I picked him up at Toxic Friend’s house after work yesterday afternoon. He began telling me about his time with Toxic Friend and how it was so hot in the room that it was nearly unbearable. He hadn’t showered, so he wasn’t smelling the greatest (something out-of-character for Primero). He also hadn’t eaten since Sunday evening because when he tried eating the left-over pizza Toxic Friend “made him feel some type of way” and so he just didn’t eat. For two whole days. He drank water because he didn’t want to take anything from the household. When Toxic Friend lived with us, he was fine with eating whatever food we had available, including all of my string cheese on more than one occasion. Personally, it seems like miserable conditions and I would much rather be in the comfort of my own home than fasting in a hot house (and today Primero was having gastro issues because of this self-depravation). And, as if these conditions were not bad enough, Primero also explained how Toxic Friend acted like a jerk on more than one occasion. I question his sanity, to continue going back to this friend’s house to be starved, hot and mistreated. But, I cannot stop it. I really can’t think of anything on the face of this planet, both physical and metaphysical that would keep Primero from this friend. Even when the friend blocks him on all social media, Primero just shows up at his house to “fix” things. And round and round and round it goes. It’s nauseating but what can I do?    

Families Belong Together

At the southern border between the US and Mexico children are being separated from their families by the government. It is reprehensible, terrifying, and extremely sad. And it makes me think about my children. The government removed them from their original families. They were taken away without their consent and placed somewhere else with people they didn’t know. They are never going back to live with their biological families. Of course there are vast differences between my children and the children being confined at the border. My children were determined to be in danger with their biological families, for one. Yet, they were still allowed to see their families and their families had ways to reunite with their children. My children were taken with the purpose of reunification. Their parents retained their parental rights and were not themselves detained. Do the immigrant parents have the expectation of reunification with their children? It doesn’t seem they are granted visitation since in some instances their children are moved thousands of miles away from them. I guess, for me, when I see people decrying the plight of these families (and don’t get me wrong, I think people should be outraged by the treatment of immigrant families) I can’t help but thinking why they don’t fret for children in their own communities who are removed from their families. Do they think the government never gets it wrong and all children in foster care deserve to be removed from their parents and families of origin? Removing children from their families is not something that should ever be easy or taken lightly. Callously ripping families apart because they crossed an imaginary line on the ground should never be permitted. Should there be safety guards to ensure the children aren’t being trafficked? Yes, I think that would be important. But, for the vast majority of the children, their parents are trying to make their lives better. They did not travel thousands of miles through dangerous conditions simply to put their lives and the lives of their children at risk. They are trying to find a way to a better life. Having lived the experience of helping someone immigrate to this country, I know how expensive and confusing it can be. The entire system needs a massive overhaul so that the steps to take are more clearly laid out. In the meantime, families need to be reunited and incoming families need to remain intact.

 

In the news I have been reading, there has been a shift in the types of immigrants crossing the border. Previously, it was men traveling alone coming to the US to earn money they could send back to their struggling families. Now, there are more whole families or single parents traveling with their children. And these families are coming from Central America whereas the previous immigrants were mostly coming from Mexico. I can’t speak for all Central American countries, but I know right now in Nicaragua the government is lashing out at the young people and anyone willing to protest governmental decisions or their President/Dictator Daniel Ortega. I’m not sure of the current statistics, but a few years ago Honduras, Nicaragua’s northern neighbor, was rated as one of the most dangerous countries in the world and El Salvador (also a neighboring country to Nicaragua) was also incredibly dangerous with gangs demanding bribes to keep families and businesses “safe” from other gangs. If I were living in fear every day that my children could be killed just for walking to school or playing outside, I would do whatever I could to get us out of that situation.  I think any parent would do the same thing. I simply cannot imagine thinking I’ve reached safety only to have my children torn from my arms, not knowing when or if I will see them again.

 

I don’t have any concrete answers to the problem. I understand the need for a country to know who is entering their territory but I feel like so much humanity is lost in the politics of it all. The bottom line is, families belong together. And compassion goes a long, long way in helping another human being to not feel stripped of their humanity.  

Mr. and Miss Grandparent

For all of my foster children I have introduced all adults, including my parents, as Miss First Name and Mr. First Name. One set of kiddos called my parents Grandma and Grandpop, but the rest of the kids have called them Miss P and Mr. J, including Chica Marie and Love Bug. But, now that the adoption is finalized I’ve been thinking about how to transition their names. I had tried, many moons ago, to strike up the conversation with my mom and she quickly changed the subject. And I’ll be honest, at this point it’s gotten hella awkward. When I took the kids with me to see my mom in the hospital, I cringed every time they would say Miss or Mr. I don’t really have any idea how to undo this. The little one’s have always called me Mommy. Sometimes, when she’s feeling puckish, Chica Marie will call me by my first name but she quickly reverts back to Mommy. She has asked a few times why Primero is permitted to call me by my name, but isn’t placated by my, “Because he is,” response. Someday she might understand. Still, I never transitioned from My Name to Mommy. In fact, all the little ones have called me Mommy even when I have introduced myself as Miss A.  I guess maybe I thought my parents would be interested in assigning whatever grandparent name they want to be called. I thought maybe they were waiting for finalization to pull that trigger. But, nothing has been said. I called my father’s parents PopPop and Nana. My mother’s parents were Grandma and Grandpa, but since my mom’s mom died when I was five and my grandfather disappeared from my life, I just call him by his name. I think a lot of the family gets rubbed the wrong way by that, but I don’t think he can disappear for 13 years and still expect to hold the title of Grandpa. My dad’s father earned his PopPop status. He was always there for us. I think my dad would make a good Pop or Grandpop. I always thought my mom would go for a cooler grandma name like Gigi or something. I guess the biggest issue, regarding what my kids should call my parents, is really the very large elephant in the room, which is what do my parents call my kids? Only once have I ever heard my parents (it was actually just my dad, my mom was not around) claim my kids as their grandchildren. My mom does not brag to her friends about her grandkids the way I’ve heard some of her friends go on and on about what they do with their grandchildren. I know my mom has been sick, but even when she wasn’t sick she had little interest in spending time with my kids. So, maybe they should just stay Miss P and Mr. J…..

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

Mental Anguish

At work last week I met two women very down on their luck. Both women are unemployed and trying to find work but other life things are making finding work hard. One woman explained to me she was homeless and living in a shelter.  She had been in an abusive relationship and her ex-boyfriend kicked her out when he went back to his ex-girlfriend. He took everything from her, including her car. She expressed feeling culture shock finding herself living in town, in a homeless shelter and trying to keep herself and her things in order. She also expressed feeling optimistic that things would soon change for the better; this too shall pass.

 

The second woman is dealing with neurological damage in her hips due to receiving radiation for cancer. She found out she was sick just before losing her job and is now having trouble finding a new job because her health condition does not allow for her to drive long distances nor sit or stand for long periods of time. She told me she was homeless before getting the job she most recently had. In conclusion to her story she said, “But, at least I’m alive.”

 

There have been three high-profile celebrity suicides this year; Avicii the popular, successful, talented and wealthy DJ, Kate Spade, the popular, successful, talented, wealthy designer, and Anthony Bourdain, the popular, successful, talented, and wealthy chef and food travel connoisseur. From a public perspective these individuals had it all. They were living their passions and making a good living doing so. They were also at the top of their game, still relevant and sought out in this fast-paced meme-filled world. But, the world did not know about their private struggles, the personal demons lurking in their own minds that eventually pushed them to take their own lives.  The contrast between the stories I shared and the celebrities is only to show how the mental health of an individual, and not their circumstances, can make the difference.    

 

I am always deeply saddened to hear someone has ended their own life and I think of what anguish they must have felt when contemplating that decision. If you have watched the Netflix show 13 Reasons Why, it attempts to show why a young person might choose to end their life, showing all the main character endured before the final scene in the first season. Being the mother of children who have personal histories of childhood trauma, family histories of mental health issues (including suicide) and substance abuse, with the added layer of foster care and adoption, I worry. Adoptees are four times more likely to attempt suicide than non-adoptees. That is a sobering statistic. Every parent should have periodic gut-checks to gauge how their children are doing, what is going on in their lives and what events might have affected them. Even more so for adoptive parents.

 

Primero’s siblings have cut themselves. His mother has had suicide threats and attempts. I talk with Primero about mental health, I let him know there is no shame, no issue at all, with seeing a therapist or talking to someone about mental health issues or struggles. I don’t know if it is enough, but I keep putting it out there, I keep talking. Chica Marie is diagnosed with ADHD and she probably has issues with anxiety. She is still pretty young, but she has had various levels of therapy and will most likely continue with some form of therapy for the foreseeable future. I am diligent about trying to find help for my kids because I know they need it.

 

I won’t pretend to understand depression. I won’t pretend I understand how it feels to think death is the answer. I know the pain in the wake of someone choosing to end their life. A close family friend overdosed just a few days shy of his twenty-second birthday and, although the family never admitted it, he knew he was flirting with the end. Could someone have done something to help him before that fateful night nearly 14 years ago? I don’t know. That is my honest answer. I know there is a lot of talk right now on social media about getting help, calling a suicide hotline, getting services for mental health, but if someone is in such mental/emotional anguish will they be able to get the help they need? At what point does the scale tip too far? The family friend was struggling with adjusting to life after serving in the Marines. He died with his entire family sleeping in their bedrooms above him. Why did he feel like he couldn’t go wake them up and talk to them? I don’t know. I have no answers, just sadness and wishing there was some way to reach that person who is thinking they don’t want to endure any more tomorrows. For me and my family, I do what I can to keep the lines of communication open without judgment or reservation. I hope that will mean something for my children. I wish it meant something for the others.

Worthless Crud

I’ve been in a funk lately. Everything is making me feel so overwhelmed. Things with Primero have improved slightly, but we are still experience these growing pains. Things with Chica Marie have ramped up again, with lying and doing things she shouldn’t be doing. Maybe because the school year has ended? I don’t know, but it hasn’t been easy. Love Bug has been having issues at the end of the day at daycare. If I am not there moments after leaving work (say I go to the bank first or get out of work a little late), I find him sobbing uncontrollably in his cubby. He can’t tell time looking at a clock, but somehow he knows what time I pick him up and he just can’t tolerate one moment more waiting for me. Work has been hard with my coworker out on a two week vacation to Italy, but also just adjusting to this new program that sucks the very soul from my body. I hate it. I went out with friends on Saturday and while I had a really nice time at dinner and really enjoyed the Escape Room, when we went out for drinks my mood took a nose-dive. We were in a pretty full outdoor spot but I felt so alone. And lonely. The other women would get up from our table and wander around and I just didn’t have the energy. I ended up calling Primero to come get me early because I had to keep fighting back tears. And then there’s my mom. I don’t know what I’ve done, but she is mad at me. I text her this morning asking how she was feeling and she responded with “Fine.” I pressed for more information and she retorted ,”Does it matter?” I responded that of course it matters but she never wrote back. We hadn’t spoken last week because I was busy and drained, but last time I checked the phone works both ways. And she didn’t reach out to me. In fact, she has no idea what is going on in my life. No idea at all.

 

I had been doing so good! I was managing to meet whatever imaginary expectation my mom had regarding what a daughter should do, but somehow I dropped the ball. And so now she hates me. I’m just a terrible daughter who doesn’t care about her own mother. I can’t do enough to satisfy her. Whatever gestures I make are rebuffed. She is still mad at me for not doing enough, for not being there enough for her when she was going through breast cancer. It’s a great big hole I cannot dig my way out of no matter how hard I try. I don’t even know what exactly she expected of me, I don’t understand how I messed up, but here we are. And I feel like worthless crud.

 

I feel like my life is out of control and I can’t get it back in order, I am hopeless and helpless. I feel like at any moment of the day I am on the brink of tears and I don’t know why. I don’t know how to pull myself out of this, how to right this sinking ship. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on. Maybe I should just let go? Nothing seems like the right answer, there is no clear path forward. I just keep bumbling along, making more of a mess of things. How can I fix it? Can someone help me?

Codependency

My previous job, before I started working for the state, was in a drug and alcohol rehab. I worked in the admissions department which included doing intake calls from individuals and families wishing to enter rehab. In addition to the 30 day addiction programs for various age groups, including teenagers, there was also a co-dependency workshop. A few months before I left for my current job, I was sent to the Codependency workshop to observe. Co-workers who previously attended the workshop warned me I would be confronted with my own emotional things. But, in hearing the stories of what the participants endured, I ended up feeling incredibly grateful for my childhood. My parents were not perfect, but my childhood was a good one. Things unraveled in my teenage years, but the beginning was ideal. I left the workshop feeling confident I could identify codependency when I saw it. Fast forward to my current life and only recently codependency has smacked me in the face. Primero and his Toxic Friend are a textbook example of a codependent relationship.

 

Wikipedia defines codependency as “a type of dysfunctional helping relationship where one person supports or enables another person's drug addiction, alcoholism, gambling addiction, poor mental health, immaturity, irresponsibility, or under-achievement.” When I visited the website of my old employer they called codependency an attachment disorder. “Suffering from codependency involves habitual, self-destructive behaviors that arise from one’s need to be loved at all costs. This serious emotional and behavioral condition can apply to all types of relationships: family, work, friend, romantic, community and peer. Becoming codependent typically results from attachment disorder, due to the absence of trust-based relationships with caregivers during childhood. We often find codependency in families of addicts, where family members unknowingly interfere with recovery by enabling addiction.”

 

Primero supports his “friend” at all cost. His behaviors lately have been self-destructive. Last week we were shopping for an outfit Primero needed for the pre-prom party tonight. At one point Primero said ,”Old Primero would hate new Primero.” I found the proclamation disturbing but also revealing. Primero before Toxic Friend was healthier than current Primero because his codependency was not strangling him, causing issues with everyone in his life, and damaging every single relationship except the one with Toxic Friend. The scariest thing about codependency is the person suffering from the condition is totally blind to their plight. Primero would deny to the ends of the earth that he is codependent. I don’t know what it is about Toxic Friend that pulled out Primero’s attachment issues and I don’t know how to help Primero recognize it and seek help to get through it and be healthier. At one point recently, I asked Primero if he was using drugs because he was acting so different I thought perhaps chemicals were altering his brain chemistry. I went through the litany of signs to look out for, the things I would rattle off to family members unsure if their loved one had an addiction during the intake calls. I was scared to admit Primero was ticking off more boxes than not. I concluded he was addicted to his dysfunctional friendship. I wasn’t far off.

 

Giving name to what’s going on with Primero is only a fraction of the battle. The real war is trying to get Primero to recognize he needs help. He is adamant about never seeing a therapist again. He also doesn’t think he has a problem. I don’t know how to get him to see reality because he acknowledges his Toxic Friend uses him and isn’t a very good friend. He acknowledges his Toxic Friend only contacts him when he wants something or needs help with something. Primero has told me on occasion that his is not only ok with being used but he likes being able to “help” his friend. How do you help someone who doesn’t want to help themselves? The only thing I know to do is to keep talking to him, keep loving him, and pray for his change of heart….

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

Negative Things

Earlier this week my mom posted on Facebook a very nice thank you to my aunt and cousin for coming over and cleaning her house. Sigh. I’m trying to not let it bother me, really I am, but it’s not working. I have offered many times to come help her, just text me or call me and I will be there. I did help clean out one of her flower beds earlier in the spring. That got zero Facebook posts. I don’t know what it is with my mom, but it seems I can never do enough or be enough for her. I’ve made a conscious effort to reach out to her more, but she doesn’t message me or call me. Things weren’t always like that between us, but ever since she went through the ordeal with her breast cancer and accused me (and my siblings) of not being there for her, she seems to look for passive-aggressive ways to put me (us) down. I’m sure, if you ask my mom, she would tell you I’m an awful daughter who does not care about her ailing mother. I don’t want to sit here and type out all of the things I have done, I don’t want to sit here and keep score. Suffice it to say, the damage done and continuously being done, to our relationship is massive. I used to share many things with my mom. Now, I don’t. When I was going through things with Primero it would have been nice to talk to my mom about it, but I didn’t say a word. When I get worked up by something the kids grandmother does, it would be nice to have an ally in my corner, but my mom doesn’t have a clue. I keep most things to myself. I especially keep any negative things about my kids to myself. (I do have a friend I can talk to, so it’s not like I’m keeping it all inside, I just don’t share it with my mom).

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

When my mom was talking to me about being scared with this latest cancer, she told me through tears that she wants to be around next year to see Primero graduate from high school. What? Really? I didn’t think she would care one way or the other if he graduated. Back when we first started the journey into adoption, back when I was a we, my mom seemed to want to have a part in all of it. Yet, when the finalizations of the adoptions finally came, she had an excuse to not attend. I didn’t even invite her to the second adoption because why? I read back on my blog about the times my mom and I went shopping for baby items. I remember how my parents came over when the first foster child was placed with us. But, when I got Love Bug my mom wouldn’t hold him, she wouldn’t even try. Most of the time, if we talk about my kids, she’s telling me how awful Chica Marie is and how no one likes her, not even my Nana. What do I do with this? I can’t just write her off, but I do limit time with my kids. I used to take my foster kids to the farm every Sunday to spend time with my parents and have a meal together. I stopped doing that when she got sick and never resumed the habit. My kids love the farm. They love going to see my parents. But, we don’t do it that often because it seems to be more of a liability and a positive family-building occasion.

 

I used to think my parents wanted to be as involved in my kids’ lives as my grandparents were for me and my siblings. I was wrong. Sure, distance plays a part, but only  a small part. My parents could spend time with their only grandchildren, if they chose to do so, but they choose the opposite. They have kept the kids over at their house once in almost 4 years. We used to spend the night with my grandparents all the time. It makes me so sad. But, I can’t do anything about it, so I just soldier on. It does make me feel lonely and sad. And I feel bad for my kids because I have a rocky relationship (at best) with their grandmother and my parents are simply not around. I had such a close relationship with my grandparents. I knew, if I couldn’t talk to my parents about something I could always go to my grandparents. Who do my kids have? Just me and each other, I guess. I think my sister would be willing to listen, if the kids were in a pickle and felt they couldn’t talk to me, but she’s far away so that makes it hard for them to get close to her. With so many of the expectations I had for my grown up life, I’m finding this is the hardest one to let go. It’s like I keep waiting for things to change, but I’m still here holding my breath. Time to let it go…

Forever Young

Is it a girl/boy thing or just a personality thing? This is a question I have been asking myself lately. Love Bug simply will not dress himself. It does not matter how he is chided, what preferred activity or object is taken from him, no amount of encouragement persuades him to undress and re-dress himself. Hard no. He wants someone else to help him with this basic function. His sister, when she was his age, was much more independent. She didn’t want help, she wanted to do it herself. Love Bug seems to have a lot more can’ts than his sister. Partially, this was because Chica Marie had to grow up quickly and defend for herself as a matter of survival, but I think it is also a testament to her strong personality. Love Bug relishes being babied, he strives to forge that dependency bond with any willing host. When he was still receiving early intervention services, his OT felt his neurological system that controls his emotions and reactions was immature, thus causing issues with outbursts and whatnot. I thought perhaps this would begin to shift as he got older, but apparently not. Fingers have been pointed at me by some family members insisting that I baby him and so I have created a mini monster. I don’t think I baby Love Bug and I have been trying really hard to push him to be more independent, but I don’t really want to do toe-to-toe in a battle of wills with a preschooler. To borrow a quote from The Princess Bride, “You fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders - the most famous of which is "never get involved in a land war in Asia" - but only slightly less well-known is this: "Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!” This means most mornings I give Love Bug his outfit for the day and suggest he get changed, only to have a naked little boy come find me, telling me he can’t get dressed. Sigh.    

Murphy's Monday

I hate feeling like I have to hide my things in my own house. I don’t like living looking over my shoulder to make sure my things aren’t taken without my permission. Because Primero took the van without permission and lied about it (and still refuses to fess up), I hide the car keys at night. But, if I want my things to do unmolested in the bathroom, I’m going to have to come up with a better system than trusting my children will not take things that don’t belong to them. On Saturday I set a sample of a new face wash and various lotions on the sink in the bathroom. I wasn’t in the mood to try them yesterday, but wanted to give it a try this morning. Only, two of the four samples were missing. My things grow legs and just walk away on their own. They just get up and sneak into Chica Marie’s bedroom. Only…. That isn’t what happened. No, she took my things. Not for the first time or even the second time, but for the umpteenth time I was stupid enough to not keep my things under lock and key and so they are taken and used and I’m left wanting.

 

It was already an awful morning before I realized the product I wanted to use was not where I had left it.  In true Murphy's Law fashion, my morning started out with one misfortune following the next. The kids ate (and by ate, I mean took a bite and threw the rest away) all the bananas (there was about a half dozen) Sunday morning because I refused to get up before 8 am, leaving me with no bananas for my morning smoothie. I tried using an apple, but the blender protested and took an inordinate long time to blend the apple slices. While trying to retrieve the apple and my packed lunch from the refrigerator I accidentally dropped a container of chicken noodle soup my father had gifted us and of course the container broke and soup spilled all over the floor. I dropped half of the apple in the trash while trying to core it (I need one of the apple corer things my mom has…). After the blender finally managed to chop and blend the apple and other ingredients, I put it in the sink to rinse it and discovered it has a huge crack in the side, which I’m not sure was there before. It means I need a new blender because finding the right blender cup seems more daunting.   

 

The pattern of taking things and lying has been an issue for so long with Chica Marie and I am so tired of it. I do not know how to make it stop. I do not know how to help her understand it isn’t ok to take something that doesn’t belong to you, it isn’t ok to lie. I feel like we just keep re-living this same scene over and over and over again and we are both unable to stop it. I would like to get off this merry-go-round now. I would like to be able to trust the people I live with and not feel foolish for not hiding everything and keeping my room on lock-down. Is that too much to ask?  

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.     

Sharing with Strangers

“Are you currently a foster child or have you “aged out” of the foster care system?”

 

For reasons I don’t quite understand, the above question is on forms we have participants complete when attending a mandatory event to continue collecting their unemployment compensation benefits. I know, my job is so glamourous. I’ve had people ask me to translate the question and so my simplified version is, “Were you in foster care?” and the majority of the answers are “No” and we can move on the other perplexing questions. Yesterday, this was not the case. I was working with a gentleman and he answered affirmative to this question. So, since he was an adult over the age of 24 and thus ineligible for the young adult program concerned with this question, I tried to move on. But, he asked what it meant to “age out” and so I explained if he has been in foster care and turned 18 with no permanent home. “Oh,” he said. “Well, I was in foster care but I got adopted out.” Not long after this revelation he shared with me that he is in stage 5 renal failure and will most likely need dialysis soon. I’ve been thinking about him ever since, wondering about his story and wondering if this would be my oldest son in another decade or so (not having renal failure, but seemingly lost in the world telling a stranger he was in foster care and adopted). I wondered if he knew his biological family and, if he would need a kidney transplant, would there be anyone able to contact to see if they were a match? I hope he will be able to regain his health and never need to explore that option.