Nightmares

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

My Day

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

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Self-Care

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

 

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

Not the Motherhood of My Dreams

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

 

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

How to Move Forward

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

Bring On The Rain

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

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

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

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

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Is It Too Late?

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

 

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