Be the boy I know you are

And so I sit here on one side of the door with that 4 year old child acting full-on bratty and screaming on the other side. I am trying out what I have been afraid to do, which is to put Fort in his room as a time out. By himself. He is now understanding consequences and knows exactly what he is doing. And when I sit in the room with him, he is kicking me and trying to engage me verbally. Anything he can think of - from "you are mean" to "go away...shoo!" to "I hate you". It can be comical - when he says what he thinks will make me mad- "I'm going to pop my balloon" or "I'm not going to eat pizza any more". I can hear the little wheels in his mind whirring- so frustrated at not being able to get the response he wants from me. I am working so hard to remain neutral. I moved to the hallway, where he can open the door and see me, but can't try to pinch me or head-butt me. He is not locked in, so he opens the door and closes it. Locks it from his side. Then opens it - yells "shoo". And slams it shut. Kicks the door, louder, louder.  It rattles in my ear. It does get me. I am not neutral. I am furious and worried and just want him to melt down, cry it out, and be sorry. The kicking stops. He is so grumpy. Just yelling rude things. He says he is going to tell on me when daddy gets home.  He is going to tell Grandma.   As his physical behavior has mellowed out, his verbal behavior has gotten worse. He says "I hate you" and "I'm going to punch you in the face". 

His pre-school starts in 15 minutes. He has said he is not going. I don't want him to think he is in control - that he can chose when he goes and doesn't go. But am I really going to drag him there, kicking and screaming?  Would he disrupt the class all day?  Is he in no state to go to school and should I keep him home, or does that mean he has thrown a fit and gotten his way?  Not only that, but of course I am in charge of organizing a bake sale today for the elementary school. I have told them I would be there at 9.  Not an end of the world thing, but it's something I agreed to do and I don't want to leave them in the lurch. So although I know without a doubt that sitting on the floor outside his room is where I need to be, other responsibilities and self-doubt are lurking around the edges of my mind. 

It is quiet in there. I cannot tell if he is playing. I hear a rhythmic sound. Is he kicking his bed?  He is still mad. 

Then I hear it. The crying. Not the mad kind, but the sad kind. The "I'm alone in my room and I'm hurting" kind.   I open the door and he is lying on the rug, both hands to his face, and tears streaming down. I crawl in from the hall, lie down next to him and scoop him in my arms.  I don't ask him to say sorry yet, I just say "let's be done fighting", so he knows I'm there. I'm nice, warm mommy. Mommy who loves him and isn't yelling or telling him no or holding him back from the door or from kicking.  And he is sweet Fort again.   The one who just discovered that we all die and has been telling me "But I don't WANT you to die".  The boy who told me we needed to go back to his orphanage and teach them about hugs. The one who says sure! when I ask him to help me with anything.  The boy I know he is at his core, and the one I am trying so hard to teach him how to be all the time. It is exhausting like nothing I have ever done before. 

Song of myself

There I am.
I can recognize more of myself now.
That new person is still me, mostly me.
The spinning circles around my body have solidified into shapes I know, children I love.
I am held together by the cage of support, woven for me by my husband, in which I am completely free and also fortified, made stronger.
My heart is more fluid- can it be possible?- I ache for this world I have met, and I rejoice in my part in it.
My heart drips, and I struggle; I yell and am impatient. Thoughts of carefree days and running away are tangled into my ever deepening responsibility.
I look, and am lit on fire upon seeing the sparks of curiosity in my children. And I am smothered by the very arms I adore.

The hills and valleys of life are no easier for me for having chosen this path..
There are days my eyes can hone in and see in technicolor this beautiful and tragic world and it can pull me under or raise me up.
It is a strange comfort, learning to love who I am at this moment, after all of my stops and starts. Being proud of whom I have struggled to become.
I can look back on the road behind me and be content, neither wishing I were starting over, nor at the end of my journey
No longer in danger of sinking, I can take to shore those I have chosen to take care of.
And this is my way in the world.  And the strange and glorious and rich and sometimes overwhelming life is of my making.  I hold it in my hands, like an ember of fire that needs my breath to grow.
And I blow.

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?