I'm Not White

My son told me over the weekend that he doesn’t consider me white. I was delighted to hear him say this, not because I don’t identify as white or don’t want to be white or any reason other than it makes me feel like I’m doing a good job not “othering” my children. What he meant by this statement, really, is that I embrace the cultures and traditions of the minority groups in our area. I have assimilated from my white country upbringing into the multicultural melting pot of our city. But, in a more microscopic sense, it means I’m doing a decent job of sewing together our little patchwork quilted family. Just like a quilt, we each retain our own colors and pretty patterns, but we hold on tight together and as a group create something even more beautiful, comfortable and inviting. I am white, but I’ve learned to speak Spanish fluently and I can make a decent pot of arroz con frijoles/gandules just like Primero’s family. I’m white, but I’ve learned to properly moisturize and protect the skin and hair of my black children. I’m not patting myself on the back because there was a time when I couldn’t see myself doing these things, when I thought being color blind was the best way to raise children who weren’t white. But, I have learned differently by reading literature, blogs, and attending trainings – know better, do better. So, to hear my son say I’m not white to me means I have done the hard work so my children don’t have to; they don’t need to assimilate into a white culture that won’t accept them, they can be themselves and we can celebrate the beauty in our diversity. In this time of difficulty, it’s a much-needed compliment.

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

The Great Purge

I began the new year with a pretty ambitious goal to purge our entire home. The house is small and feels stuffed to the gills, so my goal was to eliminate the clutter and free up our space. My hope was, this would make it easier for us to keep the house in order and take less time to get things in their places. Because I always make myself last, I decided to start with my bedroom. I don’t work on the tasks daily and the bigger tasks tend to take me the better part of a weekend, depending on what else we have going on. So, my room took me pretty much the month of January. I culled everything in my dressers, my make-up, the children and baby clothing under my bed, my book shelf and my over-stuffed closet (which does not hold any clothing, just other stuff). I also decided that a deep clean was in order before I could call the room “done.” Going in order, I moved onto the living room after my bedroom. There I had the clever idea, found on an organizational website, to use left-over boxes (cereal boxes, a tampon box and other boxes I randomly collected) decorated in pretty paper as drawer dividers. So, while the living room was not a hotbed of harbored clutter, it took me a considerable amount of time, thanks to my added task of drawer dividers and deep cleaning. Only a few weeks ago I declared the living room finished and moved onto the bathroom. Chica Marie insisted on helping me declutter under the bathroom sink. I found some nice clear plastic containers from Five Below (like a dollar store only, things are mostly under $5). Over the weekend I tackled the bathroom closet, which has been a nemesis of organization for way too long. I purchased more of the containers and soon had the closet wrangled into something that resembled order. During the snow day yesterday my plan was to finish the bathroom and move onto the kitchen. I did finish the bathroom, it is organized and clean, but I only began organizing the stack of paperwork and junk mail that takes up an entire corner of our kitchen counter. Then I ran out of steam.

 

I have been trying very hard to keep myself on task and not flittering from one project to the next when one starts to bore me or gets too hard (just wait until I get to my shoe closet!). The kitchen has been driving me nuts, but I haven’t been getting into the organizational aspect too much (I mean, I keep it clean!) because I wanted to make myself stay the course with the other rooms. Thus far it has been taking me roughly a month per room, with the bathroom being the quickest to date. The kitchen might be a two month project! There is just so much I have to do, so much that has been sitting around for the 10 years I’ve lived in this house. And I suffer from the “what if I need it someday” syndrome, which I know will be a big deal in the kitchen. I already have been internally fighting with myself about a bunt cake pan I have never used, but might someday need…

 

My mom, not knowing about my whole house purge, gave me a huge box of stuff she found in her house that she thought we might want. One thing was my old light bright. I loved this toy as a child! While a lot of the things in the box from my mom didn’t make the cut, I just could not part with the light bright! It needs a new light bulb and a good cleaning, but I think Chica Marie would have fun with it. Finding it a home is the only trouble.  

 

The last room on my purging journey is Chica Marie’s bedroom. My hope is by the time I reach her room I will be ready for two things. One, I’m hoping it will coincide with my semi-annual shoe migration. This is what I call the two times in the year that I switch my seasonal footwear from warm/hot to cool/cold. I love shoes. I have a LOT of shoes – as in over 100 pairs. I’m not a purse girl (although, I do have my fair share) or really big into gobs and gobs of jewelry, but shoes? Oh my! Roughly one half of my shoes are housed in Chica Marie’s bedroom closet (because the one in my bedroom is not large enough and full of other stuff as I mentioned above), the rest of the out-of-season shoes are stashed in Rubbermaid containers in the basement. Thus, the need for the migration from the basement to the closet. Ideally, I would like to do this and purge them all at once. Yes, it is as arduous as it sounds. The second thing I am hoping to happen whilst purging Chica Marie’s bedroom is to buy her the big girl bed I’ve been promising her. I’ve been waiting to use my income tax return so I could get her everything in one fell swoop. I’m planning on buying her bunk beds so there is space for her sister to sleep when she comes over. And, I will most likely need to get her a new dresser or wardrobe too. In essence, her room is getting a total over-haul and I’d rather do it all at once, instead of piece meal.

 

At first the purging was hard for me. It was easier to just hang onto things and try to find them a new home. As I have gone along, it has gotten easier to get rid of things we are not using or have no purpose. I hesitate to use the KonMari way of thinking based on the value of joy because it seems so impractical. And, I would probably get rid of too much paperwork and not enough shoes. Still, as we have hauled bag after bag to the local Goodwill store I find it is easier to breathe, easier to be. There is a lightness that comes with purging. Do my closets now look like the front cover of Better Homes and Gardens? No. But, they are so much more manageable than they were before. I think that’s why I’m simultaneously looking forward to purging the kitchen as much as I am dreading the actual task of doing it. I haven’t asked for the kids to help me, other than lifting things onto high shelves in my closet, because I’ve wanted to deal with my own letting go issues and not have to deal with the kids as well. Thus far, the hardest purge has been my bookshelf. I wanted to only keep the books that fit on the actual shelves and not stacked on top or under or alongside the bookshelf/desk. I ended up giving away a box and large bag of books. But, I actually felt good about it because a friend of a friend came and took them and she was so delighted to have new reading material. And now my bookshelf makes me happy because it’s not a mess!

 

You know, writing about this has actually given me a mental boost to get moving in the kitchen! Anyone in need of large metal mixing bowls that I haven’t used in 10 years?

Do You Have an Exit Buddy?

I’ve been sort of seeing someone for about a month now. When we met up for drinks Saturday night he asked me, “So, what are we?” Ugh, the dreaded question! I answered truthfully and non-committedly that I thought we were dating. But, here’s the thing – he is way more into me than I am into him. Not only that, but he has already brought up the whole biological child thing, which sent me into a spiral for a few days. I had to explain to him the likelihood that I would not be able to get pregnant. He had a come-what-may attitude about it, but it just made me so sad. I’ve had this conversation more than I would like to and each time it stings. The reactions I’ve received run the gamut from total acceptance (it doesn’t matter to me either way) to total denial (are you sure it can’t happen? I have super magical sperm, I’m sure I could make it happen). It’s not an easy thing to live over and over again, but I feel it’s only fair to let someone know the reality of the situation. Would I love to have a biological child? Yes. But, am I willing to dive back into infertility treatments again? That path lead me to some pretty dark places and I just don’t want to flirt with going back there. When I spoke to a friend about being fearful and not wanting to go down the infertility treatment path again, she suggested I might feel differently if I had a partner who was supportive. Flaco was about as supportive as dog poop, so she had a point. But, I know me. I know this was a major obsessive thing for me and not in a healthy way, but in a soul-sucking, black hole kind of way. I can’t try just a little, I go whole hog. I have no chill when it comes to infertility. So, while we aren’t at that point in our relationship, I’ve already had to reel myself in, stop the obsessing and what-if thinking and that scares me. I have lately come to learn just how deeply I was hurt by my ex-husband. I often times feel like I am not enough because I can’t conceive a biological child and who would want to be strapped to that for better or for worse? I am also fearful of falling in love again, fearful of giving that control to another man lest he use it to hurt me, as Flaco did. I’m trying to just let go and let it be, but I am so not good at that! I am fairly freaked out by his attachment and almost repulsed that he likes me so much. It’s a sad fact that I am already looking for an exit buddy to develop an escape plan. He started talking about meeting the kids and I started having heart palpitations and not in a good way. Maybe I’ve been alone too long. Maybe my instincts are telling me something. Maybe I’m more screwed up than I thought I was! Maybe I wouldn’t be so freaked out if he hadn’t brought the baby-thing into the equation. I don’t know, honestly. I’m just trying to take things one day at a time….   

Toddler-isms

Toddler-isms are about the cutest things ever, of this I am sure. Last Monday I had Love Bug to the doctor for his regular checkup. After I undressed him, the nurse took his measurements, temperature and weight then left the room. Love Bug, aware that “bad” things happen when he’s on the examining table, insisted I sit and hold him in one of the chairs along the wall. He was sitting on my lap, leaning his head on my shoulder. He picked his head up and surveyed the room, then whispered to me, “Mommy. I haveta get outta here.” He said it so seriously and so matter-of-factly that I couldn’t help but chuckle. I asked him where he wanted to go and he said ,”Go home.” I told him we couldn’t go home, so after thinking about it a minute he asked me where Primero and Chica Marie were. I told him they were in school. So, he asks, “Go school, Mommy?” When I told him he would need to go back to daycare he once again declared we “had to get out of there.” Later, after the doctor had seen him, listened to his heart (and he kept whispering to me while she was trying to listen!), looked in his ears, nose and mouth, the nurse came back with one shot. He needed the flu shot. He saw her come in the room and he saw the syringe. He was again sitting on my lap, facing me and the nurse said it was fine, she could give him the shot in his left arm. He watched her clean his arm with the alcohol swab. I was trying to distract him with stickers, but he watched the nurse stick the needle in his arm and gave her the side-eye, but he did not flinch. He didn’t cry, he didn’t yell, he just watched her as if her actions offended him. She put the band aid on his arm and he tried to pick it off, but other than that he sat stoically during the whole exchange. What a trooper!  

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

The Other Mother

I look in the rearview mirror and I see her children riding in my backseat, their heads bent together staring at videos on their phones. I have helped and housed three of her six kids. They have spent holidays with me, gone to the pool with me, and contacted me for advice or just to chat. I pop up at family functions and people related to her are starting to know who I am. I was a stranger but now my presence is undeniable; it’s like I am all around, always there. Her child is my heart, my great blessing, so beautiful and strong. He hugs me each night before bed, he tells me about his day every evening over dinner. I love him fiercely and proudly, he is one of the greatest things that has ever happened to me.

 

I have pictures of her son when he was an infant stashed in my phone. I was there when he first rolled over, when he learned to walk and when he fell and broke his tooth. Her son calls me Mommy and leaps into my arms every afternoon when I pick him up at daycare. I kiss her sons soft cheeks and know his ticklish spot are his inner thighs. I know her son loves homemade chicken noodle soup and has never been fond of corn. When he wakes at night, her son calls for me, is soothed by my touch and warm embrace. I know her son loves drums and basketball and hates brushing his teeth. I enrolled her daughter in kindergarten and trundled her off to her first day of school. I also enrolled her daughter in karate and take her to the Y every week to watch her learn the moves. I have her daughter’s first school picture and hundreds of craft projects. I’m teaching her daughter how to craft, how to fold laundry and how to read. I have dried her daughter’s tears and played tooth fairy when she lost her teeth. I know her daughter loves sweets and hates beans but I make her eat them anyway. I give her kids a bath, I read them bedtime stories, I listen to their hopes and dreams. I give them my all, no matter how draining it can be sometimes, and I adore them to the ends of the earth.

 

I don’t know where she is right now or how she is doing. We aren’t friends on Facebook, we don’t text one another to check in. I’ve spent time with her, I’ve listened to her and had compassion for her situation, even the self-inflicted parts. I see her in her son’s smile, her daughter’s toss of her head, her son’s mannerisms. She is never far from my mind as I perform the motherly duties for her children. Sometimes I wish I knew her better or had known her before all the bad things and poor choices. Sometimes I’m content that she isn’t around drumming up big feelings in the hearts of the children I love so dearly. I wish life had been different for her. I wish she could see how amazing her children are, how precious they are together. It isn’t easy raising her children, but I am blessed to be able to do it, blessed that I am their mother too.

What Behaviors?

I found out through our case worker that the counselor doing the child prep for Chica Marie was no longer with CHOR. She had made plans to be at our house right after school on President’s Day and never showed, so I asked my case worker about it and that was her response. Last night the new counselor assigned to the child prep came out as did our case worker. I had emailed my case worker regarding the difficult night Chica Marie and I had, so she was up-to-speed on things. For as long as she has been our case worker she has known about Chica Marie’s behaviors and has documented them, I am sure. So, the case worker was only there for about 45 minutes before she had to get off to the next home. The child prep counselor was there for almost an hour and half. At the end of her time with Chica Marie, she started talking to me and asked, “So, what behaviors does she have because I didn’t see any tonight.”

 

I did a slow blink and bit back the scathing response that popped into my head. She didn’t think the little temper tantrum Chica Marie had when she was told they couldn’t go to the park was a big deal because she could be redirected from it eventually (please imagine doing this hourly or maybe, on bad days, back-to-back minute-to-minute - THEN you might begin to understand….). And Chica Marie was behaving yesterday, so no she didn’t get to see the behaviors but, um isn’t there a file on this kid somewhere documenting ALLLLLLL the behaviors I have reported in these past (nearly) 3 years?! After one short interaction you cannot fully understand the behaviors of this child. I was so stunned by the question I honestly could not answer her. Now, given some time to compose myself, I could run off a litany of behaviors including lying, stealing, talking back, defiance, non-compliance, not following directions, temper tantrums that she cannot be redirected out of, aggression towards peers, shall I keep going? It just bugged me so so so much to have it seem like I have a perfect little angel in my home because she managed to behave for an hour while getting undivided attention. I understand that everyone has a different threshold when it comes to behaviors, but after living through some pretty hellish weeks, I didn’t want to hear, “she seems ok to me.” So, does this mean you think I made them up? Do you think she only has behaviors with me, therefore it’s something I’m doing or not doing? Do you think I’m too picky and expect perfection from a six year old and so I nag about behaviors that annoy me but really aren’t a big deal? Because, essentially, this is what you just said. Because Chica Marie could keep it together for an hour, you seem to think allllllllll the other reports from alllllllll the other people (including the school and daycare!) must be wrong or misguided or what? And so where does this leave us? Please don’t discredit me. Please don’t come into my home for an hour and think you truly understand the breadth and width of what is our everyday life. Trust me, if you stick around long enough you will see the things that I have seen. And then, I will smile smugly and ask, “So, what behaviors does she have?”

Finally, Something Good

Thankfully, last night was a better night. Chica Marie had asked me on the car ride home if I could sit with her in her room to talk, but she ended up telling me what she wanted to say while we were driving home. Last night was her bath night and our alone time. Love Bug did come in once, but I shooed him away. Chica Marie went to sleep without incident last night. She even sat and did her homework, after a brief crying spell sitting on my lap. She got grumpy and worked up while I was doing her hair because she was tired but when I reminded her she was tired because she wouldn’t go to sleep the night before she calmed down a tad. Her new TSS worker also started working with her yesterday, so maybe having that regulation at school helped keep her reigned in. We will see how tonight goes since our case worker is coming over and so is the new case worker who is doing the child prep with her (the other case worker assigned to her child prep sort of disappeared from CHOR and our case worker didn’t even know why….). Often times case worker visits equate dysregulated Chica Marie, so fingers crossed that isn’t the case tonight.

 

Often times, when I’m dealing with particularly hard situations with one of the kids, I get bogged down in the nitty-gritty and sort of forget how fabulous these kids can be. Last night Primero reminded me what a wonderful young man he is and it just made my heart melt. Primero has a friend, the one who had been sleeping over at our house most weekends, who he has been helping through a rough time. This friend recently turned 18 and his mom had a baby last week with her new beau. Last night they were kicked out of their apartment and had to quickly move in with the young man’s grandmother. Primero relayed a conversation he had with his friend to me. He was trying to convince his friend to reach out to me for help. In his words, “A (me) can and will do so much more for you than even your own mom. I promise she will do what she can to help you.” If you’ve never been a foster parent or adoptive parent the significance of what he told his friend might not register. So, let me tell you how phenomenal this is! Primero has had reason to not trust adults in his past. He has had every reason to not believe there are adults who will help him and stick by him. For him to not only recognize I am an adult he can trust fully, but for him to so confidently trust I would be willing to help his friend is SO SO SO HUGE it’s like the size of 10 Jupiter’s and then some! I thought, after everything that happened last year with his sister, Primero had written me off as one of “those” adults who say they’ll do something and then renege on their promise. But, as he was telling me this story last night over dinner, my heart swelled and my eyes got a little teary. He totally trusts me. He totally, and wholly trusts that if someone allows me to help them, I will deliver. And, if he trusts that for a friend how much more does he trust that for himself? Hallelujah! I’m not a total failure at this mothering thing!  If nothing else, Primero knows I’ve got his back and if that isn’t showing unconditional love, I don’t know what else is!