Caught off guard

The thing about raising any kid is just when you start to think you have settled into a routine, your child will flip it on its head. Nothing about being a parent is regular or dependable. The good thing is that it is definitely not boring!  Not that things here are routine in any way, but there is an element of stability that is slowly taking hold, and seeping into the core of our new family. And I feel much more able to predict what the day will hold. Ah, that is the word that has me in a pickle. Predict.  A predictable day. Just let it cross your mind, and your kids will smell it, laugh riotously, and take your plans and stuff them down their pants.
The other day, I was scrambling for a solution to a scheduling conflict.  Our first son was having some sinus/ ear problems and had to get an early morning CAT scan. I was able to drop off the girls at the elementary school early, and figured I would just take Fort with me, since I wouldn't be around to bring him to preschool nor could I guarantee that I would be back to pick him up at lunch. Then the hospital called the night before with some instructions, including the fact that siblings were not welcome, due to germ exposure, etc.  Luckily I have a girlfriend with twin girls that are Fort's age. The mom is a dear friend, and the girls take a music class with Fort, so they know each other well. She said I could drop Fort off in the am and she would bring him to school and also pick him up of I got stuck. I started to prepare Fort for the changes that were going to happen on the way to school. He said "I go to Her house? Wif no Ben and no Evie?"  "That's right Fort"  "Yessssssss!"  He was excited to go on his very first play date, without me, just like his sisters and brother get to do. Never mind that it was for 10 minutes before preschool.
I was relieved that he was so ready to go. Our appointment at the hospital went smoothly, and I knew I would be back in time to pick him up from preschool at noon. I called Lori, who said he was totally awesome that morning, just walking around to check out the house, but was talking and ready to go when it was time. I was worried he would have a hard time leaving. So I was thrilled that it all was so easy.
I got to school to pick him up, and as he came around the corner and saw me, his smiles changed from a shy excited one to a crestfallen look of disappointment. He came to me and put his head down on my shoulder. I immediately understood that he had been expecting Lori to pick him up. "Hey, buddy - did you think Lori was coming to get you?"  "Yeees- I don't want you!"  So I pulled him aside, kneeling down to talk quietly. I often will say out loud what I think he may be thinking, just in case he can't put the words to it. "Oh, you thought Lori was coming and you were excited. And now you are sad that it is just Mommy". Yup, that was it. He was able to say it, but didn't cheer up. He walked put to the car with me, and then it really began. He lay down on the floor of the car. I told him it was okay to be sad, and even mad, but we need to get in the seat and buckle up. I was working hard at staying calm and understanding, because I could see what a disappointment it was. When I told him he could get into his seat, or I would do it for him, he begrudgingly got into his seat and buckled. I praised him, because that was a pretty good step- being as upset as he was but still doing what I asked. We got home, and he didn't want to get out of the car. I picked him up - total dead weight- and brought him inside & sat him on the counter. When I went to take off his coat he started to struggle...and then he hit me. Sigh. That's a hard rule. You hit mom or dad, you go to your room. I knew a battle had begun.
It wound up being fairly easy- he did not hit again, nor did he go into any of his other frantic or out of control behaviors. But he was MAD. Mad to be in his room, mad that he was home, mad that he was not at Lori's. He had an expectation in his head and he had been disappointed. This little thing, that he misunderstood - that I clearly had not expressed well in my worries of the morning- had exploded. The other kids might have been disappointed too, but it would have been a few minutes, or a shrug, and then moving on. But Fort got stuck. He could not get over this. It was so upsetting to him. He finally lay down in his bed, and I told him I would be in the other room when he was ready to talk. I was not 2 steps out the door when he started calling "Mama! Mama! Mama!"  I went back in and he snuggled down, still sad, but needing me. I carried him to the couch, and he fell asleep. It had been an hour. About 1:30 he woke up, still a little groggy and withdrawn. He had swim lessons coming up at 2pm, and hadn't eaten yet. I was thinking we could make it if he was up for it.   I had a half a muffin from the morning with Ben, and set it in front of him in the kitchen to see if he wanted it. "Yuk". He shoved it across the table. Big sigh. Not acceptable behaviour.  I took the muffin away. He put his head down on the counter and started crying again. I gave him a few minutes, then I asked him if wanted the muffin (I suspected he really did). "If you can find your manners and say yes please, then you can have it". He sat looking at the counter for about 20 seconds. He made a decision, said yes please, ate the muffin, and it was over.
It was 2:30 and we had missed swimming.
But this is how he processed this disappointment. It took time, it was frustrating, but he had made a number of good choices along with the bad. He had buckled his seatbelt, refrained from hitting other than the first one, called to me when he needed me, and made the decision to have good manners so he could eat. I could not have anticipated this, but I realized how well I can read him now. His preschool teachers tried to cheer him up before he left with a sticker, and some fun news about the little chicks being born in their incubators, but they didn't understand that his letdowns are deeper and cannot be brushed aside. Has he never allowed himself to have expectations?  Does he have farther to fall?  Does he just get a plan in his head and it is tough to deviate from what he thinks will happen?  I can wonder, but I can't know. I know that he is learning, always learning. With each difficult and sometimes painful lesson, he is growing and changing the patterns of his psyche. He may have been sad, and reacted in a disproportionate way from his peers, but look!  From this he sees that some disappointments in life are small, that he can get over them,  and life marches on and he is just fine.

When his rage overwhelms

Late at night in bed is always some of my favorite conversations with my husband. Something about the late hour and the quiet house allows us to say what is really on our minds, after the energy of the day has dissipated. Last night I was talking about Fort, about how much he has grown. Literally grown too - he has grown an inch and a half in 4 months since his November birthday. No telling how much he's grown if you include the first six weeks here, where he inhaled teenage boy amounts of food. 

And grown in every aspect. His temper tantrums still arise from time to time, but yesterday's freak out was the first in 3 weeks. He does so well most days that I think it's practically vital for him to get these emotions out once in a while. His little body must still contain so many inexplicabe feelings. This afternoon, he had tried to run out of the backyard gate, and was not happy with me when I brought him inside to go over the rules again. He tried to run off inside the house, presumably to cry or be angry on his own, usually a choice that we encourage. But he was fully dressed in his snow clothes- coat, hat, gloves, snow pants, boots- and had snow covering him from the snow angels he had made. When I wouldn't let him run through the house until he got out of his snow gear, he exploded...hating to be restrained when he wanted to run. I forced him out of his clothes, and it quickly became a control battle with his little hands holding on to his snow pants with all his might, refusing to take them off. As it became clear they were coming off no matter what, he began to kick and punch. I kicked off my boots and lugged him to his room, trying to protect my face from his scrambling hands and my body from his flailing legs. 

In his rage, he is like a little wildcat, striking out at anything and everything.  I hate doing it, but I restrain him, until I feel confident that when I let him go he will not attack me, bite me, or throw any toys at my head. Sometimes it is enough to enrage me, this battle of control that I MUST WIN. Or I am overwhelmed with guilt at how I have to manhandle him. Sometimes it is almost comical, him trying to express his anger by throwing anything, even his socks. There are times the good times, I can see what it is. I can see his little brain furious at me for being in control, for setting hard limits and for saying no to him. I understand his anger, and I know that he is working hard to contain those most primitive of impulses, to fight. And in moments when he is not screaming, I can say very calmly, "No biting mama.  No hitting mama. I am your mother and you need to listen to me". And then yesterday he said it. I knew one day he would say it. But it still shocked me. 

"You are not my mother!!!"  

And 20 thoughts simultaneously flew through my head. Is this just a gut reaction in anger?  Is he testing me?  Does he really think I'm not his mother or that he can un-adopt himself?  Does he even know that "mother" is another word for "mom"?  I was shocked, but not hurt. If being his mother means I tell him what to do, then he wanted no part of it. I didn't get into a "yes I am- no you're not" battle with him, I just let it go. He began calming down- first he got control of his body, but not his anger. He sat in a little ball, far away from me, his arms wrapped protectively around himself. He was no longer screaming but he had a deep frown on his face. He looked at me and said his usual " you no nice". I have chosen to respond little to his verbal anger. I just let it be, let him say what comes out. Usually some switch flips, and he looks up, bright and blinking, and says " I say sorry now". 

And once again I was thinking of my girlfriend, who was adopted as an infant, and how she never had an open dialogue with her mother her entire life. I hate the thought of that. Fort will have so many unanswerable questions, but I want him to always have the freedom and the confidence to ask. The questions cannot sit in his gut, swirling around, creating insecurity or low self esteem.  And so I started the conversation, so that he will hopefully come to me when things start to trouble him. 

I am your mother, Fort. I will always be your mother and you will always be my son. I will love you whether you are angry or happy with me, and I will never leave you. I may not love some of the things you do or the choices you make, but I will always love YOU. 

I don't know what parts he hears. But he hugged me so tight. He said I love you Mama. I think we will have this conversations many times in during the next few years. But I will say it as often as he needs to hear it. Loving him is the easy part. 

Winter weighs in.

The world glows orange at this midnight hour,
An unworldly daylight look as the street lamps are reflected in the white whiteness that covers everything.
The still and quiet of the yard makes me pause and I feel myself melt a little at its beauty.
I know tomorrow will be full of kids, of noise, of home from school-ness. There will be love, yes, but also banging and noise. Pounding feet.  Constant needs chipping away at me all day.
So I take this moment, a small moment, to see what I have.
To see the beauty outside with the trees pregnant with snow, bending their branches gracefully but with heaviness. Their pliant nature is keeping them from snapping.
And I am bent some days, heavy with the storm of life, whipping me around. Let me have grace and beauty in the midst of weighty days.
For if I only see the storm, I may miss the beauty. The snow transforms the landscape, but I can still recognize the swing, the fence, the chair. I am still here, under the whirlwind days.  In the quiet moments, which are few and far between but still there, I see myself. Let me gather my family -whirlwind and all -and be transformed and more beautiful for it.

How did we get to here?

I. Am. Exhausted. 

I think most mothers of four would feel the same way. Or just most mothers in general. I have started this ridiculous habit of taking a 15 minute nap around 10:30pm. Then I wake up and have a little energy to read and do things on 'my time' that I am loath to give up. Then I go to sleep for real around 12:30. I barely register Steve leaving at 6, and when the alarm goes off at 7am, I am often surprised to find Fortune in bed with me. Did he just get there?  Was he there most of the night?  It is hard to reinforce him sleeping in his bed all night when I can't wake up to put him back!

My coffee intake has tripled. I have the disgusting habit of making a pot of coffee and drinking it all day. Although I admit that I still have a glimmer of the glamorous notion that artists subsist on coffee to fuel their creative fire. I am hoping to reawaken my creative fire one day!  

I swore I would never complain about laundry. Because after living for years and years lugging the laundry to a laundromat, it seems an absolute luxury to have your own washer and dryer. And there is the ease of being able to throw in a load of laundry at any time of the day. My only issue is now I am throwing in laundry at EVERY time of the day!  The Sisyphean task awaits me every moment I am home.  Obviously there is more to managing 4 kids than laundry and groceries.  So I wonder, why - in light of all the freaking work that having four ADJUSTED kids entails- did we ever wish to adopt an older child, one that would undoubtedly have issues and would rock our stable if busy little world?  

Steve and I grew up in big families- I grew up with five siblings and Steve is one of 8. And we loved it, though we never imagined having such a brood of our own. We always talked of adopting some day, but looking back, we spoke of it in the way you dream about owning a home- not really thinking about the realities of repairing the roof or replacing a furnace. But intellectually and emotionally it has always appealed to us. It just seemed like the RIGHT thing to do- we wanted children, and all those kids wanted parents. Then we started to see friends going through the process - the ongoing piles of paperwork, the endless waiting. Really?  Who wants to do all that WORK?  And the waiting lists for a young child made it seem so commercial. And no matter how you looked at it, adoption was expensive. 

Then life happened. I had a career as a singer & dancer, Steve was in the long road to become a doctor. Finally, we moved to Ohio for Steve to start his own medical practice and for us to have kids. We both wanted that, and the Midwest gave me the luxury to be a stay-at-home mom. I left my sometimes glamourous life in the theatre and traded the sequins for Cheerios.  We had things we never had before in our student/actor life. We had a new car, a house & extra cash.  Steve and I were both in our 30s, and we were ready for a family. Then in 17 months we had 3 children; a daughter and then boy-girl twins. It was overwhelming and exhausting and any thoughts of adoption were long gone. But time moves on, you forget your exhaustion and suddenly on New Years Eve 2009,  when the twins were 3, we brought it up again. We were both excited about the idea. Excited to research it and find a toddler- maybe a 2 year old who would be close in age to the twins. We would find where the need was- and look for a child that there wasn't a wait list for- any race, any place. Share the wealth and the love that we had. We had a loud, fun house, and we had finally gotten to the point where I could manage our kids plus a few extra. We were a social house & I loved having friends with their kids over for dinners, play dates or "lunch parties" - often 5-10 moms and their accompanying children.  I was tired of needing help from everyone and thrilled that I had gotten to the point where I could reciprocate. I had more to give. And adopting would do that in an extreme way. Little did I know how extreme. 

When I think about the path that we took to get where we are, how impossible that first year of twins was, and how difficult this first year of adopting is too, I am comforted by time. Time marches on. And while I feel the sleeplessness and the stress more, while I feel worn thinner, and older, I know "this too shall pass". I hope that this will balance out- that I'll give less and get more. And that once again, I'll have more to give. 

Those I left behind

The director of the orphanage told me that I would never forget the ones I left behind. And now I am realizing the full extent of what that means. I haven't really been in very close contact with anyone in Uganda since I left. Mainly because I am overwhelmed and exhausted and it's somewhere on my list of the many things I need to do. But also because I am wary. I am wary to add a layer of emotions onto what I am already trying to manage. Even as I write this and just let my mind wander to those kids, my eyes are welling up. Not all the kids at Nafasi were able to be adopted. They have to go through a fairly intense investigation, and those who have complications or family members they have tracked down are clearly not eligible to be, nor should they be, adopted by a new family.

And each kid has his own story, and his own chances of being reunited with some form of family. 

I have heard about a few of the stories that have happened since we left - the baby whose grandmother came to visit weekly finally took him back to her home after 3 months. The 6 month old whose father also came to visit every week also took him back. But I wonder about this one boy, probably 1 1/2 years old, who was just learning to walk on his spindly legs when I was there. His mother went to jail for abandoning him, but the orphanage helped to get her out, with several stipulations. She came to visit her son, but she has given up. On him, on herself, on life. We wonder if she has AIDS. I was there the day she came to see her son. She had him in her lap, after much coaxing, but she did not even try to hold him. Her arms dangled by her sides, and the boy seemed to balance as precariously on her lap as he did when he was first abandoned. It was not good for the mom, but way more importantly, not good for the child. So what do you do in this case?  It would be horrible for this boy, once abandoned, to be reunited with his mother who does not want him, and who would probably neglect him again. The social worker is talking with her about giving up her parental rights, and then he could be adopted. 

I am still conflicted about one little girl's story. She came to the orphanage with Fort. They were close buddies. Whenever Fort sees a picture of her, he says "dat's my friend!".  She came after her father was arrested. She was with him as he tried to steal a boda boda, but it went awry and the "mob" was starting to go after him. The police saved his life by arresting him. When they interviewed the father to try to find a family for her, it turned out that the father had taken her from the mother when she was small, and she had lived with him, and been party to his many crimes. Processing all of this takes time, which in Uganda translates to years. So 4 years after she was taken from her mother, and after being in the orphanage for over a year, they were reunited.  She was at a very tough orphanage for a while, then transferred to the Dutch orphanage with Fort, which was well staffed and well run. When she finally made it back to her mother, they were strangers. The mom had thought she was dead. There were brothers and sisters she has never known. The mother held a job at a flower farm, but didn't have enough money to send them to school, although the orphanage was trying to raise money for her to go. The kids were watched by a neighbor while the mom worked. Then she lost her job. I am not clear on what the latest is, although I know they got the money to send the girl to school. We went to visit her while I was there. To me, she lived in squalor. Yes, she was with family, but there was not much- they had a one room shack with a dirt floor. They wore rags. They ran around without any supervision. I can't imagine there was much food. And so, is this the best situation for her?  I do not know.  It could have easily been a loving and wonderful home. It also might have been going back to a life of hardship. Most likely, both. To my western eye, it seemed like she was still in need. 

Now I have started to think about the ones still in Uganda. Especially the few that I really grew close to- and the ones who had no idea that I wasn't coming back. How did that affect them?  Have they gotten used to that?  So many people come and go. How does it feel to see their friends being adopted and nothing  changes in their life?  I also have unresolved issues with people from groups, mostly churches, who show up at orphanages like Nafasi on "mission trips". Who is getting served here?  What long term needs are being filled?  Is it a selfish trip- feeling like they have done some good by seeing first hand what devastation people live in?  Do they do more harm with the hope they instill?  Many of these kids will grow up in the system, always alone, never adopted. 

It is hard to compare their lives to our life now, and all the things Fort is doing and the ways he is changing. What will happen to those kids?  I am as overwhelmed living back in a first world country, thinking of them, as I was in a third world country thinking back on my kids in the US.   It is so extreme, the differences in our lives. I look at Fort and I wonder if he sees this world the way I see it, or if he is just more malleable and more accepting.  He takes everything in and hasn't seemed to struggle to reconcile the stuff we have access to here.  And the waste. 

What I want is ...

I can't seem to finish that sentence. What do I want?  How can I come to peace with what I left behind?  And who I left behind?

Hard is good.

I think about how far Fort has come. I wonder what the people at the orphanage would think of him now. Did they ever see him so joyful? So carefree?  I was looking at videos from my time with him and I am shocked. That little boy who checked out, who cried piteously or moaned for hours is just not part of him anymore. I see him angry, frustrated, sad- and yes, still FULL of emotion - but he never just blanks out anymore. There are videos from Uganda where he is happy, silly, crazy even. But I do not see the quiet joy that is part of him now.  I love seeing that most excited wide-eyed pure happiness spreading across his face like sunshine.  His eyes light up and are so beautiful when he talks about the things he has discovered and loves. Bacon. Chuck E. Cheese. Dump truck. Family. 

 

I think about our journey thus far. He has been home with us 11 weeks, plus I spent 6 weeks with him in Kampala, so that is more than four months. Our daily life has calmed down a thousand fold. He won't go into the basement to play by himself, and he doesn't sleep the whole night in his bed, but there are such huge steps forward. He can go to the bathroom by himself again ( and so can I!). When I go to get the paper at the front door, he doesn't follow me, or even call after me in the "Marco, Polo" method he has employed. I can run into the house if I've forgotten something and he can wait in the car for me.    He can watch a movie, or at least a good part of it. He can play independently, nearby to where I am, or near the kids or Steve when they are home. He can go into the garage to practice riding his bike while I am in the kitchen. And the big things. He has had 2 meltdowns this week. Neither one had any physical aggression towards me. I can reprimand him without it being the end of the world. I can use something he wants (2 stories) to get what I want (pajamas and brush teeth, please).  When he hurts someone on accident or takes something of theirs, he has learned the power of sorry. He goes to preschool and adores it. He would like to go every day. He wants to take his lunch like the big kids do. He listens well to his teachers and is learning quickly about transitions, socializing with kids his age, and following directions.   I feel so positive about him, the change he has already accomplished and the things he has learned. I am sure the other behaviour issues will resolve in time and that his life will be nothing like the one he might have endured forever in an institution. 

Steve always says "hard is good" when we get frustrated with a project or some work. And I have come to also realize the hardest part is seeing any negative effects on the first 3 kids. This change is forcing the kids to grow up and be more independent, if only because there are more of them and less of me. This happens anytime a family gets a new sibling, but our experience is compressed because there are so many factors happening simultaneously. I see our biological son struggling and it kills me. It feels so unfair because adoption was our choice, and it just happened to him. But it also is forcing him to face issues that have been there his whole life - the intensity of his feelings and his difficulty in communicating them.  Do I think he will ultimately benefit from all of this change, and from Fort becoming a part of our family?  Unequivocally yes. But watching him in the throes of painful growth is painful to me, and it is exhausting constantly trying to buoy his self confidence and redefine his role in the family. 

I think about what I envisioned adoption would be like. It seemed that people reacted to the idea of adoption in one of two ways- either with a mind that has always considered it, or one that cant conceive of why you would do it. And I didn't understand the naysayers. But now I do realize what a drastic step adoption is. It is not for the weak at heart!  I firmly believe it takes two passionate parents to go through the challenges, the anticipated and the unanticipated. I can see how adoption can work its way into the tiny cracks in a relationship and push them open, stressing a marriage. I feel so lucky to have an equally dedicated partner, one who can support me as much as he supports the kids. Every time I feel completely drained, it is his friendship that brings me back to life. Adopting reminds me of having twins. You think you are prepared for it, but it is never quite what you think. It is surprising, exhausting, beautiful. 

First Christmas

Everyone wants to know how Fort is doing with his first holiday in America. Most of it is surprisingly normal!  He learned about most of the customs in the manner that older siblings would teach a two or three year old. It is always amusing to recount stories to him to explain traditions we believe in. Yes, a big hairy man comes down our chimney in the middle of the night. Nope, we are not scared of him- we love him!  Yes, that's a real tree!  In our HOUSE!  These gingerbread houses are not for eating, just to look pretty. Yes, Santa puts treats in those big socks by the fireplace. No, Santa is not a dog. (Where did that one come from?).

He feeds off the emotions and excitement of the other 3 kids - running around in the cold snowy night to put "reindeer food" (glitter and oats) in our darkened yard. Waking up on Christmas morning, he was jumping around shouting "Yay! Yay! Christmas!" as if he had been doing it for years. Later in the afternoon, he kept asking " Where is Christmas?"  And we would say - this is it! This is Christmas!- until we figured out he thought Christmas was a person, and had to explain Christmas is a day like Halloween.

Whatever I worry about is rarely an issue - I thought at Halloween maybe he would be scared or freaked out by some of the scary costumes, or even just the sight of costumed children ringing our bell all night. But no- none of that phased him at all- he ran ahead of us...just as if to say " what a great idea!!  Ring the bells and get candy!!"  But he could not get over the pumpkins on the doorsteps. "Pumpkins!" he said the first time he saw one. "Yes", I said. "For eating!" Fort shouted. No, I had to explain. We scoop out those pumpkins and instead of eating them we put them outside for decorations til they rot. Yes, seeing food as decorations is weird to him.

And now there is snow. I was worried about how this little guy who lived on the equator and put on sweaters when it got below 70 degrees would react to winter here. Thankfully he came to the US in September, and it was still quite warm, so he was able to gradually go through fall and winter. And he does amazing in the cold!  He has more tolerance than some of my other kids!  He is so unaccustomed to being inside all day that I think he just loves his little windows of outside time, even if that means in snow pants, boots and gloves.

He is a LOUD kid, a boisterous kid, a hilarious kid. He loves to tease and tickle and snuggle. He loves chasing and wrestling and my iPad. He loves our house, our cars, his bed. He loves 'pezza', orange juice and BACON. He does not want to go back to his orphanage, but likes talking about it and his friends there and remembering when we were there. He wants to be a pilot- so he can fly Madeleine there and show it to her. He is a dark kid, an African kid, an almost-American kid, an almost-our kid.