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….   

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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…..

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