>Adjustment: Marking the good. redux

Posted on November 9, 2009 by coffeemom

>I don’t have a picture. Not the right picture anyhow. I have this picture, far below, which will have to suffice.

I had a “mark the good” moment today. And because I have written before about how I think its important to MARK the good when you recognize it, I want to write this down…for the record, and so it doesn’t slip away from my foggy mind. In older child adoption, there is so much that is strange and awkward, especially at first. And only time can help ease into some things. One of those is worth a whole ‘nother post (Fair warning…). But it is this very thing that had one of those moments today, the kind that stills and shimmers for a minute, you realize you kind of are holding your breath so you don’t blink and lose it. Then you do blink because you have to, suddenly, there is a pending spill. And if you’re lucky you recognize, that this is one to mark. A step forward. A settling in. A deeper twinge resonating.

Ack. Let me explain. Tomorrow is Marti’s birthday. She is a bit giddy in anticipation. Just a little shivery giddy. But I didn’t really see it until Mass.

Every day we go to Mass after we drop off the school kids (parochial school, one of the perks). Every day we sit in our pew, third from the back, left. Some mornings Coffeedoc gets to join us before clinic. Today was one of those.

Marta was in between us, she kept pulling Coffeedoc closer in, and squooshing closer to me. We were all mooshed up together in that pew, tho the pew was empty otherwise. If you didn’t know it, it looked like it was below freezing and we were huddling for warmth. Then, in one of the quiet moments of the Mass, we sat again, taking our huddle. She grinned and she pulled him closer in, put his hand on her lap and grabbed mine, pulling it to his, placing our two old hands together. We smiled a small laugh at each other. Then she grinned wider.

She wrapped her little arms around our big ones on either side, grabbed hands in the middle and squeezed. “My dad. My mom,” she whispered to us with a huge smile.

It was very much like a small small child, claiming again, for the hundredth time, their parents. But this was our teen. Not a toddler. But the declaration was the same. And we looked across her head and smiled that deep smile. And then, surprising myself…I blinked.

I don’t have a picture to show you. I wish I did. But I have stored this one away safely anyhow, marking it for good.

>Real kids. On their own.

Posted on November 5, 2009 by coffeemom

>Teenagers.

What happens to them?
I mean, what happens to them if they don’t have a family?
If they don’t have a home?
A bedroom?
A safe place to be?
Enough food, enough care?
Someone to watch over them, to give them grief, to tell them “good job”, or “nice try”, or “hey, no attitude!”?
What if no one is there to say “It’s gonna be ok”, and really mean it.
What if they are cold or hungry or sick or scared.
What if they are alone?
Alone.

Grim huh?
Well, its real.
Its real here in the states.
Its even more real, to an unfathomable level, around the world.
Real kids.
The “lucky” ones are in an orphanage or foster care.
But they are not really lucky at all.
Because they don’t have a family, or a home, or anyone who really cares about them, every day.
And that temporary haven, of sorts, that orphanage or foster home, it’s gonna end.
The time there is limited.
And then these kids, and even as older teens, they are still kids, with the same needs and wants of any teen kids….they are sent out.
They are sent out.
To a bleak future.
Tough to get a job when jobs aren’t available, you have no connections, no transportation, no proper clothes, not enough food, and not enough or any school.
Tough to find a place to stay when you have a tiny pocket of money to “get you started.”
That money can’t even rent a place to stay for a few months, if you could find one.
That money can’t get you in school, or help you find a job.
That money runs out.
Then the future becomes Grim.
It is all too easy to have that future include drugs, assault, living on the streets, prostitution, begging, illness, hunger, desperation.

And these are kids.
And these are our kids.
This was MY kid.

So this topic is close to home for me.
Too close.
It hurts to know that so many of these kids have such a bleak future.
That is not an overstatement.
Bleak. Grim. Future.
They have little to no future, in fact.
This could have been my girl.
She did get lucky.
We got lucky.
I’m not posting this to say that everyone should adopt older kids.
It’s very hard.
It’s very different from adopting a small one.
Oh, its worth it.
But there are other ways to reach out as well.

I want everyone to SEE these kids.
I want everyone to know that these are real kids, who like jokes, ice cream, hugs, a warm shower and bed.
These kids deserve a chance, any chance.
All of these kids can use a hand.
This new initiative by Gladney, “On Their Own,” is for these kids.
For our kids, these forgotten ones.
As they age out, we can help them have a bit of hope.
We can help provide some of the tools they can use to get started, safely.
To find their footing, to know that even now, someone cares.
On their own.
Donate what you can, if you can.
Buy the bracelet above, the proceeds donate, the exposure helps.
You can help them step out on their own and step past the grim, maybe.
You can help them step over into hope.
You can change a life, just by caring a little.
You can change your life, just by caring a little, for these real kids – about to be on their own.

>Firsts

Posted on October 26, 2009 by coffeemom

>No adoption blog really is complete without posting that ongoing, ever growing, list of firsts. The list ranges from the mundane to the sublime, but they all have impact and are a privilege for us to witness. Fun and nervewracking, scary sometimes, sometimes hard, but really…it’s always cool to expand a world, bit by bit. To find out much is out there.

So, without further ado, here it is. First post of firsts.

Obviously, first Halloween.
First supermarket.
First escalator.
First ice cream.
First airplane.
First elevator.
First dentist visit.
First extraction, ouch.
First family dinner.
First ride on a boat.
First ocean.
First beach.
First Grandma.
First Grandpa.
First trampoline.
First cousins.
First Uncles.
First Aunts.
Frst pumpkins, first jack o’lanterns.
First Disney.
First roller coaster.
First frappucino.
First football game.
First swim.
First walk on beach.
First seashells.
First dolphins.
First movie.
First computers.
First piano.
First vaccinations.
First family party.
First sentences in english.
First trouble with american mom and dad.
First forgiving.
First big family.
First brothers.
First sisters.
First autumn.
First lazy naps on the deck in the sun…..
The best thing about most of these firsts is they are just that: firsts. Most of them have many more, countless, times to experience them again. Which might not be so thrilling on the no fun ones…but some of them, ah, its just so good.

>Turn-keys

Posted on October 22, 2009 by coffeemom

>So many of the things that are involved with adjusting to an adoption keep crowding into my head. So, I’m processing stuff. Which means I have to post, you know it…its how I process. Bear with me. I wish someone had talked about this stuff when I was researching wondering dreaming about it all. I know, heaps o’ books out there, but for my meager mind, I need things categorized a mite differently. Maybe. All those books are so helpful and even now crowding my bookshelves and stacked on my night table. I am still using them and will be for a good long while, maybe ever.

But even so, this is how my mind parses things out:
Turn-keys.
You know how you hear about “Turn key” businesses? Where you can just step in and the biz runs properly, right out of the box?
Well adoption is the exact opposite of that.

But even so, I have decided that there ARE “turn-keys” in the adoption process, the adjustment process. And I think they really are critical to the fine tuning of an adoption, at least for us, me, our family. These are the keys that literally turn and open or close the process of adjustment (at least in my opinion, I’m just a mom, not an expert, so take this for what it is).

Sadly, there is NO ONE key to the whole process; though wouldn’t that be fantastic!? But I think these are a number of keys: time, touch, trouble, trust, truth, talk, terror even. I’ve written about the terror often enough. And time, downtime, that is. And recently about the trouble. But one of the most important keys, a true “turn key,” is one of the hardest (of course!).

Trust.
Oh my.
I think this is one of the biggest.
In some ways, it’s everything.
Think about it: TRUST.
There has to be so much of that.
But how hard it is to find, to grab, to hold, to create, to hang onto?
If you have it, it seems solid..and you are more fortunate than you may realize.
If you do not, or cannot, then it can be so ephemeral, so heartbreakingly out of reach.

I think it is what we are all searching for, as much or more than happiness, or possibly, love.
Because you cannot trust without love.
Because you cannot be happy without trust.
They flow and feed each other.
So, yeah, its big.
When you have brought an older, hurt, child into your family is it gigantic.
It is everything.

Gee whiz, trust. Sounds like a basic. I have realized I really took it for granted, that foundational unquestioning trust. I trust my kids, beyond those moments of obvious lying or um, borrowing, and run of the mill kid stuff that most kids have to test out. They trust me. Even if they hate me for holding them to curfew or being strict, they still, if push came to shove, would admit that (even if I am “so wrong and clueless”) I have the best intentions on their behalf. I trust my husband, I trust how things work. I trust God. Right?

Well, this adoption has taught me that actually, I have MASSIVE trust issues! (It’s the curse of the control freak, always) God, husband, kids, new kid, the whole shebang. Not too fun finding that one out! But, really, helpful, because with the entrance of a new, older, child into a home….everyone’s level of trust is laid on the line. And you know what? You have to deal with it.

As mom, you have to deal with it yourself and for the others too. I’d love to say that foundational trust is unshakable. And it might just be for Coffeedoc and Buddybug. And thank goodness for that! But for the rest of us? Well, it was shaken some. You can see that shake in the jealousy, the attention seeking of new and old kids, the acting out, the frazzled tempers and moods (yeah, mine too, once or twice. Ahem.). Really, so much of that turmoil stemming from questions of trust, different levels, but still the same bottom line. And for our new sweet girl? Well, its still not there for her either. How can it be?

So, how do you build trust? How do you parent a child who just plumb does not, cannot truly deeply TRUST you? Its much harder than it seems and I think its one of the huge reasons that it can be harder to adjust to older child adoption. When you’ve raised a child from baby or toddler that trust has a million times over to be proven built tested and reinforced.

A new child, older, coming from a completely different world and ways? Do they have that tested track record with you? No. Do you trust them immediately in the same way as your children already at home? Honestly? You can’t. You don’t know them well enough yet to know their expressions moods triggers. You don’t know when the honeymoon will switch to a meltdown or if it will even. So that takes time to trust and anticipate their actions and reactions. And so, until you build that foundation of trust…. Well, you’re flying, um parenting, without a net.
And for the new child? Well, that trust is gonna be a long time coming, deep down. They might well trust that you will feed house and clothe them. But the deep trust, the kind that withstands the misunderstandings, the corrections, the grief the anger the complete discombobulation….that isn’t there, not really. And so when they feel like they are drowning in all the change how do they trust you will save them, pull them up and not let go? Well, maybe they don’t. Or maybe they are trying, but you have to do your part. Which is: be there, hang on, get over yourself (Now don’t get all worked up and think I’m judging, I am totally typing about ME here), and don’t let go.

Sounds easy. It’s not.

But as you do it, you both are reaching a bit toward each other. Even the silly kinds of trust make such a huge difference. That you can tease and just be a little silly, for fun not hurt. And that really ice cream seems weird but is wonderful, try it. And that if mom says she will come in and kiss you goodnight when she gets home, she will. Heck, even that, just like a small child needs to learn, I always come back.

And just that effort, that repeated reaching, I think {and continue to hope and pray}, brings you (ok, me) all a bit closer, laces your heart to the other….a tiny bit at a time. It may not feel like it at all. And trust is really something that doesn’t feel like much except a sort of sureness, an absence of fear. But it is the grounding for the feelings that feel like everything: happiness, love, joy.

So, really, I would love someone to hand me a shiny big ol’ turn key to all this, to precisely fit this one critical lock. And then to open the door to a deep firm trust, for all of us. Trust in each other, trust in love, trust in the time and effort, trust in the good, trust without hurt, trust without doubt or question or fret. But I guess this particular turn-key is crafted from the clay of our (OK, my measly) hearts, bodies, and just plain old presence, again and again and again – for the whole family, old and new. But this key, once its made, will be one to treasure tight.

>Counter Intuitive Adjustment

Posted on October 16, 2009 by coffeemom

>There is an odd part of the adoption adjustment process that I want to talk about, to kind of sort it out in my head. I’ve only really actually been able to see it clearly this time around. I suspect it plays out much more with the adjustment of an older child into the family. I’m talking about that boundary…the one that is so hard to cross the first few times.

I’m talking about trouble. I mean Trouble with a capital “T” (to borrow from “The Music Man”). And I guess I should throw out the caveat that I’m only talking about OUR house and family and experience here. So don’t flame me, I know well enough that every single adoption – young or old – is unique and different from every other. However, that said, I have noticed something lately, and it feels important, at least to me/us. Its a whole counter intuitive experience.

Trouble. You all know it. There are different kinds of course. But I’m talking about routine ‘trouble,’ the kind found in oh, every single family in the world. The usual stuff of squabbling and testing boundaries and annoying behaviors and flat out breaking the rules to see how it plays sort of thing. The sulks, the tantrums, the rudeness, the ignoring…..life with kids. Not all kids, not all the time…but really, most every kid, some of the time.

With the adoption of an older child, ok, this older child, there are phases. You can read about them in the books. The honeymoon phase is the most fun, supposedly, the giddiness of meeting and all the excitement of the new.

All new, all the time.
Frankly, its wonderful and exhausting.

Part of that exhaustion comes from that very newness. Every single thing is new, needs to be explained, or pointed out, or giggled over. Everything is heightened. And it takes a little while, but then you realize that everyone is kind of walking through the day on eggshells. Don’t make a false step or the eggs will crack and the mess might spill out. Everyone is on their best behavior because no one is quite sure how it will play when they are not.

But you know, that can’t last.

It doesn’t. And while it is a whole ‘nother kind of exhausting to leave that golden honeymoon phase, it is a relief in it’s own way. Because now, it becomes real. Things get rocky, possibly very very fast. It can be ugly. It hurts, there can be tears all around – anger, fury even, snits, snot, names, accusations, hopefully not hits pinches and shoves between the kids (but you know, it’s possible).

And, as mom, you know what you have to do. You do it before you’ve analyzed it and set out a plan. You deal. Ideally, calm cool and collected. But, sometimes you (ok, ok: me) react instead of plan. Because while some moms might be able to only discipline in calm cool collection, according to their calmly evaluated plotline…THIS mom tends to react and maybe even has been known to um, yell, once or twice. (I am not admitting this, I am just saying that there is a possibility that there has been a slip or two over the years.)

What I am saying is: the kid(s) are in Trouble. Capital T.

Now. We are in this new phase now. Our new daughter has been in Trouble. Capital T. And it happened before I knew it. It has now happened a number of times. And, really, I now think it is such a good thing. Let me be clear, the trouble itself is not good. No one digs it. But the ability to be in trouble….priceless.
Let me give you a for instance. On this trip, we went to a swishy restaurant with all the kids – because we are maniacs. (But that is a topic for another post.) I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that not long into the dinner, about halfway through, I got up and took Miss Marti outside.
Yes.
Outside.
In mom code, that’s big stuff. Capital T stuff.
And I took her off to the side of the restaurant and told her in no uncertain terms that she was behaving poorly and in Trouble and it was all not ok. She is a stubborn little gal and so this included some back and forth between us, heads shaking, arms crossed, tears…the works. Shortly, we came to terms. More tears. Now hugs. And a long one. Done.

But then, for the second or third time since she’s been home Marti looked at me and laughed a small laugh as she said her (Ethiopian) Mom’s name. And then pretty much re-enacted our ‘discussion.” Then she pointed to me and said my name: “Mom.”

I smiled and said, “Yeah. She would have said the same thing. Because we are both moms. Your moms. And we love you. So listen!” And then I got a REAL hug and a REAL smile and we walked inside to continue dinner (Waving at the bar patrons whom I had unwittingly provided the evening entertainment. doh!).

And you know, when she went inside she was happy again. Not sulky.
And it felt like things clicked one more notch down toward settled (still a ways to go, but every notch is something).
Because all that – that discipline, anger, apologize, forgive, move on thing?
That’s NORMAL.
Normal.
And the other kids feel more normal if they know I will take her out (of the restaurant…c’mon on!) and she can get in the same kind of trouble they can.

It’s a comfort, in a totally counter intuitive sort of way.
And it’s one notch closer to “Normal.”
For all of us.

>Three months. Adjustment

Posted on October 13, 2009 by coffeemom

>So, today is three months.
Three months since Miss Marta T landed in America. Stepped foot on US soil and became a citizen (IR3 visa, don’t get all worked up, Gabey came on IR4, it’s just different).

Three months of adjusting to a tsunami of change: only child to big family, no parents to two parents and even more: us, new food, new smells, new sights, new language, new ways, new everything single thing you can think of to name.

So, how are we doing? How is Marta doing?

I hope we are doing pretty well. That’s the funny thing, it’s kind of impossible to know in a way.

With older child adoption its a different kind of road. It doesn’t come with the same maps as infant or toddler adoptions. There are almost no standards or norms, it seems. Because every child comes with so much history that their trajectory and ways are their own. Unique. Meaning, their paths, their ways, the adjustments, their quirks, their traumas, their charms are all unique to their very own self. And you can compare if you like (and its OH so tempting to do it), but it’s not at all the same as comparing when your kid walked or talked or got their teeth. Those markers are not nearly so clear in this arena.

So, instead of judging this soon, I’m gonna throw out what’s up at three months; what we know and what we are learning. About our new daughter: Marta Therese.

The beach is beautiful.
California is nice.
Swimming is so much fun.
It is very hard to learn to swim but its a ball anyhow.
Mom and Dad think this means there are big hazards around water.
Especially the ocean because its so easy to tip over and fall, even just standing there.
Because if you look down, it’s disorienting.

Music is just the best.
Singing is good too.
Mom is very funny when she tries to sing and dance.
Shopping is one of the best of things.
Especially with an older sister.
Pink is maybe the best color ever.
And maybe yellow too.

Quilting and sewing is just fascinating.
Its new, but feels pretty good to be able to learn it.
Its great to be able to do it on your own, all by yourself.
Those seams will get straighter with practice.
That sewing machine makes ya feel powerful!
Those quilts are crazy colorful charm.

American food is great.
Pasta and pizza are always great.
Salad and ice cream are best of all.
Sweet potatoes are disgusting.
Carrots aren’t much better.
But so many choices are just a thrill.
The rules of restaurants are a little hard to figure out though.
Ordering, why can’t you change your mind?

Dentists are very nice, but not much fun to visit.
Braces are very exciting to think about though.
Pink is the color already picked out for the bands.

America is fun.
Movies are amazing!
Roller coasters can be very fun.
But they can also be very scary.
Boats are very fun.
School is fun, still.
Except for math and learning to tell time.
The english teacher is just so nice!
English is a very hard language to learn.

A big family is a good thing.
Except when the smaller ones make you crazy being pests.
But big brothers and sisters are wonderful.
Except when the big sister keeps you up at night studying with both music and lights on.
And except for when you have to figure out shower schedules.
And where to sit in the car or at the table.
And family rules are not always fun either.
You’ll get in trouble if you cut your own hair.
Or ignore mom or dad or are rude.
Mom holds to those rules and will yell and scold.
But then its ok again after it all.
Buddybug is very much missed.
But its exciting to think he’ll be home in less than a week for a bit.

Maybe the best part of a big family is that means BIG family.
And aunts and uncles and cousins.
Maybe the very best thing of all is to have grandparents.
And a Grandma who understands somehow.
Best of all are hugs from her, and mom and dad.

Three months is just the beginning.
The whole family is still adjusting.
Adjustments are both big and small ways.
Things can be hard.
Things can be so frustrating.
Feeling sad can make your whole body hurt.
Or parts of it.
It can feel lonely sometimes.
It can be so confusing too.
Its easy to get out of sorts and not really know why.
Things are very strange here.
But are starting to feel more normal, a little.
We all hope it gets easier.
Some days it is.
Some days it’s not.

Some days you get a glimmer of feeling that depth, just under there, and its a shiver of good.
And you know, it’s worth it to keep on trying.

>Adjustment: two months.

Posted on September 9, 2009 by coffeemom

Relativity, by MC Escher

So. We are at two months now of being a family. And really, I think this drawing sums it up best.

That’s right. Look closely. A little topsy turvy maybe? Yeah. That’s our household. Seems like just when one of us thinks we have our feet under us and know where we stand, well then it seems to go a little wonky again. Someone else skews the mood or drops something down the stairs or starts climbing the walls. You know the feeling…just a little still, um, shifty.

So, really, everyone is still kind of finding their places, so to speak. Especially in the new relations to each other, its a shifting thing for awhile; an up-down, push-pull kind of thing. I am working on keeping balance with all the family, the kids in particular. I’m finding my sea legs, so to speak, but man, its a workout!

I know this all reads so vague. But, its because I guess there is still so much guessing going on. We still don’t have much language floating around the house, not one that everyone can understand. So we do a lot of guessing, which of course leads surely to a fair lot of misconceptions flying about.

But even so, sometimes we make steps forward, on solid ground. We have negotiated bathroom times (still ongoing…girls, showers, ’nuff said), and are laying down the food rules (e.g. first real food, then sometimes ice cream). We have sorted through mundane teeny but oh so important practical issues of who sits where in the car and how mom can figure out whose clothes are whose in the laundry (Three girls who are much the same size = mom is confused, girls are mad. Can you say: “initials in all clothes?” I can!), and who does which chores and when. Whew. Boring stuff? Mundane stuff? Maybe, yeah. But not SO much when the smooth functioning of the house is at stake. And no, saying that, the house is not functioning smoothly, not yet.

But every now and then, that topsy turvy picture, above, morphs for a few minutes, into a regular old home, with our regular old life in a slightly newer version. Two months. We are at two months and counting…..and hoping and living…..together.

>Adoption: Adjustment and Laundry

Posted on August 4, 2009 by coffeemom

** Warning. I’d love for all my posts to be “butterflies and rainbows” as a dear friend says…but during this time, they cannot be if I am to be honest to myself and anyone else. So, sometimes, they are just odd. You all know already this blog is a lot of stream of consciousness drivel. Fair warning.**

My laundry room.

Kidding.
Officially: laundry at “London Terrace Towers”….but a gal can dream….

I never knew I’d be so grateful for laundry.

No kidding.
Occasionally, this thought, this gratitude, has popped into my addled mind…this gratitude for laundry. But really, not so much. I have spent many a moment over my many years resenting the freakishly replenished piles (by which I mean: heaping mounds) of dirty laundry.

But especially of late, coming home and trying to tread water in the tsunami of adjustment involved in this adoption {And, I presume, older child adoption in general}….. I am grateful for laundry.
I am grateful for the normalcy of mountains of laundry needing to be gathered, sorted, washed, swapped, dried, hung, folded and sorted again.

We control freaks love having something that we can control, and that in a nutshell, is the beauty of laundry. I can stand in my little laundry room, folding, and hear the machine’s old familiar churn and the dryer’s whine, and things are normal.
I can sort and fluff and fold and create new clean order again and again.

And I know this might sound like I am hanging on by my fingernails, or failing and slipping and grasping at straws….pathetic….but to be frank, the laundry is, oddly enough, a comfort. Right now, laundry is less a burden than a signpost that life really does go on and returns to the particular habits of my family.

Laundry is a sort of comfort everlasting (in my house, at least). It is constant; a task that can be well done and appreciated (mostly). I can do it with mindless rote motion, or do it and stew or daydream as much as I choose. And, gloriously, I have time alone, for no one wants to join me in the laundry room.
And so it is even peaceful in it’s own noisy way.

I know. This is as mundane as it gets. But that, that very thing, the utter mundanity of it, is exactly what makes me stop and think and smile. Because, we are taught, in my Catholic faith, that even small things, the most mundane routine mind-numbing or unpleasant chores, can have infinite value.

And so, with a smile, and a rueful nod, I can agree. Only once before, during a hospital health scare of my dearest, have I so searingly been aware and grateful for the rote routine of my laundry chores. I said a prayer of thanksgiving for it then, long ago. And now, during this odd uncomfortable time of adjustments, I whisper it again.

I am thankful for laundry: for the clothes to wash, the machines to wash them in, for the chore on every level and the comfort it brings to us all…but right now, especially to me, in those sharp raw and uncertain moments, I am simply grateful for the chore and the routine it implies. And when I don’t know how to manage all this jaggedy new or to move through these big things, or the snaggy small things, if I am gripped with fear or fretting or exhaustion…I can literally stand and quietly do the laundry, and feel like me again, have our family feel normal and not only new. I know these motions, blindfolded, and they remain….and continue even while we find our new normal. It’s comfort. It may well be silly, I know. But for those of you who wonder about this adjustment and how it’s different…this is one unexpected reveal.

The machine churns and slogs along, the dryer whines and turns and turns. And obviously, I am reminded again and again, so must (and will) I.

>Hurdles

Posted on July 27, 2009 by coffeemom

Hurdlers by misspiepie, flkr

Well, today we are at the official, two week home mark. And, oddly, enough, I think we are making some small baby steps of progress. On my part, I have gotten off schedule in my private personal schedule of weepy tension and/or fear meltdowns, missing a day off the every other informal pattern. Hoorah! Odd, you say, perhaps. I know, I didn’t expect this myself – but there you have it. I’m marking this as a positive babystep forward however, into a new normal.

We have had to correct a behavior, just like we do with our other kids. What do ya know? Another kid in the house = parenting. What are the odds? Ha. It had created some upset and then we made clear the expected behavior and also got a true apology and forgave. Now, that’s pretty SOP for our house: you get in trouble, parent or other kid gets upset, you apologize, are forgiven and the rules are made clear, then we all move on. And just going through that makes it feel a tiny bit more normal, oddly enough.

For now, and surely for some time to come, our biggest hurdle – Marta’s biggest hurdle – is language.

And make no mistake, this is like an Olympic event for her and for us all. This is a difference, I think, between adopting a younger child and a much older one. A teen will make this speech swap slower than a much younger kid, especially if they have not had any language learning beforehand. This slower acquisition impacts, well, every bit of the adjustment process.

We have an ESL tutor on tap to come over about three times a week, starting in a week or so. We have Rosetta Stone for English (And let me just give a little quickie review: difficult program in a way if you don’t already READ english and a little glitchy and a pain in the backside to get into the meat of the program – have to click through many screens before you start. And if you don’t know the language that means someone else has to click for you, grrrr). And we have multiple copies of the best dictionary we’ve come across, Concise Amharic Dictionary (thanks Cami!). We also have a great site for word by word translating that is fast. We are watching movies together to jump start that language familiarity and I talk with her through the grocery store and as we drive around on errands, describing most of the things we are doing.

But speech, actual speaking, is the biggest hurdle. Marta is uncomfortable trying out her speech and really, wants to listen and then give us an amharic word or two to clarify. We have to push her, with a smile, to repeat the english version of the word: e.g. “desta” = “happy,” say “happy,” and so on. I think she is just very shy and unsure of herself with this. We understand that. But as I told her this morning on our walk, the more she talks, the easier it will be.

But oh, such a hurdle and I don’t know how to help her much. Except to help her stretch out and try. And try again. And again. They say it will come. We all wait in great anticipation for it to start, trying to be patient, but just wanting to be able to really talk with her.

I want to hold conversations, that’s my best way to really get to know anyone. One of the hard things about this adoption and the bonding is I can’t really get to know her without talking, without this conversation. The silence is deafening in a way. We are both, all, trying to learn and use our other senses to make those connections, but as you probably have gathered by now….I am a ridiculously verbal gal. Yes, I talk a lot. I want the noisy yakking and small teasing and chatting of talking – even simple sentences and words. I know this is the “all about me me me” version; but I think that Marta yearns for talking together too. I think she’s just too unsure of these strange new sounds to be confident enough to let fly.

So we are all bruising our shins a bit on the hurdles of language, but trying hard to push and help and clear them so we can run this race together.

Because a family is at the finish line.

>Adoption Process: The waiting dance

Posted on February 26, 2009 by coffeemom

Matisse, “The Dance”

Brace. Embrace. Brace. Embrace. And around we go.

International adoption, the process: It’s a dance, in many ways.
Not always an elegant, pretty one though. Not when I do it, at least.

But it has the same rhythms in some respect: reel them in, embrace, push them back, spin them off, oh! Catch them back and pull in again. I suppose it would be only fair to tell you to brace yourself: long post, sorting through the thicket…

A dance. But this dance is particular and it has several partners. It’s the waiting dance of imagining and fantasizing and then catching back to reality and both aching for it and wanting to seize it close, but also to push it back, spin it away because it’s just too big. And that’s just on my side, not even on this young girl’s part. She is my partner in this, as is Coffeedoc and all the kids here at home. But of course, this post is a rambling glide through the things I’ve been stewing about. So this dance, in this post, is mine. It is like this painting below, I am whirling with my own shadow at the moment, or the imagined ideas of life with my new daughter.

“Dancing with my Shadow” by Edward B. Gordon

And really, it’s all about the wait. And it’s different waiting for an older child. Because they have more a partnership in this whole process, in a way…even though you are strangers to each other, you are already inextricably connected in this bizarre dance of the process.

Hmm, I’m so jumbly, let me try to sort it out.
See, when you are waiting to adopt a child, a baby, domestically, you go through all the hoops and then you wait, seemingly endlessly, for that phone call. That part is much the same as international. [And yes, there are many ways to adopt in the States that might follow a different path (foster-adopt etc) but the basic process of domestic goes along these lines for the most part.] But with domestic adoption, you get that call, you world changes and you arrange to go get the baby. Wow. Hoorah! And it’s awesome!

With international adoption, you jump through more hoops and shred through more paperwork, wait longer for federal approvals and then wait for that call. And then the hard waiting begins. Because you are tied to a child. You have committed in your head and heart and on all sorts of papers. But you wait, on another country to approve and say, “Done. Come get your child.” Wow. Hoorah! And it’s awesome!

And when you are adopting a baby or toddler, internationally, you fret and you worry about them because they are so vulnerable and so needy and they just need to be held by you, to smell you and see your face again and again and grow into security, into family. And you race to get there because every day is precious and they are changing by the minute and you want to see and be part of every fleeting expression of wonder or worry.

But when you are adopting older, you do all the same things, really truly, of those adoptions above. But there is more. They have a whole life that has made them who they are, already. When you adopt an older child you know they know what is happening, to some degree, but don’t know how much they understand. They know you said you’ll be their mom and dad forever, but you worry, do they wonder where you are, why you haven’t come? And seemingly, they do. They write you a letter now and then, in brokenly translated English, and it says, “please come soon, I miss you!” And you know. You know, they don’t miss you, they don’t know you. They miss family. They miss a mom. They miss a home. There is a wrenching desperation under the sweetness of their letter. You want to pull her in, tightly embrace her, ache to whirl her into your arms.

COEEF Mesgana Dancers dancing in celebration
for Ababa Yosh (Ethiopian New Year)

at the Ethiopian New Year’s Festival in Oakland, California.

And that’s when you remember. You remember being there. In this beautiful country, Ethiopia, the one that gets under your skin, forever. And you remember the smells and the sights and the tastes and the air and the light. And you remember, it’s indescribable, really. And then it hits you again, that this is the land, the home of your daughter, your new child. And she has to leave it.

And you try to imagine how to do that.
And you can’t.
You can’t even begin. So you push it all away, it’s too big to think of, fully and well. You spin it back, across the room.After all, there are plenty of spinning twirling things to catch your attention as you wait: packing lists, clothes to buy, rooms to arrange, donations to sort through, other families traveling, fbi lists, cheering for families, praying for others…not to mention, oh, daily chores and the minutiae of daily life with six kids in the house now and another calling from college. So you can do the daily two-step of your hectic life and kind of put the wait on the side burner. You have a month to court. You are in wait mode, right?

But then, usually for me, when I am staring at another 12 letter Amharic verb and trying to conjugate it and figure it out, it hits me again. Or, even more, when I get a letter from a traveling family and new friend and it is thrilling and then terrifying, all at once. It hits me.
I am reminded of Rebecca’s post on “it.” I stop. I am all but frozen in step. And I don’t know whether my gut reaction is to brace for it, for this huge change, for us, but more for her…or to embrace it close and let the achy push to go get her pull at me, even more.

How do I brace for her, with her? Or to embrace; it, her, all of it.
How do I do that so she will accept it?

Ack, I’m sure I’m not making sense. Unless, maybe you are in process, and it does make a little sense. But, an older child’s smile is much more complicated than a baby’s smile or a toddler’s smile. Not to diminish the trauma’s for those little wee ones. I have adopted four of them, I know. But, when a baby or even a toddler, gives you one of those bright open grins, and shines their gaze on you, it’s clear. It’s open. It’s simple. It may be hard earned, but once you get it, ah, it’s real.For an older child, I suspect it’s different. Not that that her smile or any of their smiles are less real. But there is more there in a way. When I stare at my girl’s pictures, I see her beautiful smile (And as objectively as I can be; she has a gorgeous smile!). But I know, I can’t begin to guess what is behind that smile. She has a life behind that smile, one that I’ve not been part of. I can imagine, I can wonder and worry; I cannot ignore what might be there. What will her smile for me, for us, be? How will it change, will it change? It’s so much to wonder, it’s so big. But once we are together, certainly at first, but maybe forever, I will have to do a flash judgment: where is she now, her heart and feelings?

And so we will dance. And hopefully we will be the best of partners. And we will anticipate each others shifts and turns. And I will try to push off that freezing wait fear and worry. And soon, soon, I will embrace her in my arms, brace with her, and embrace her for good.

But for now, we whirl and spin here, we brace for this huge change; anticipate bracing her – embracing her – and reach for her, from afar.

Another Espresso, Please

Why, yes, I did just have one, thanks…

Category Archives: older child adoption

>Adjustment: Marking the good. redux

>Real kids. On their own.

>Firsts

>Turn-keys

>Counter Intuitive Adjustment

>Three months. Adjustment

>Adjustment: two months.

>Adoption: Adjustment and Laundry

>Hurdles

>Adoption Process: The waiting dance

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: