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It is such a special thing to have a Christmas birthday…but I know it doesn’t always feel like it is.
It feels like it can be forgotten in all the wrapping and busy and fun.
But it will never be forgotten.
It wouldn’t even feel like Christmas now, without your birthday streamers and princess cake!
You, my sweet bird, are so special to me. To us. To our family.
You, and your Christmas birthday, makes our Christmas extra special.
You are a remarkable young girl.
You are so strong, and work so hard.
You have a sweet good heart.
You try your hardest, every day.
And even when you get so mad sometimes, you always come back and make up with me.
You have a loving caring spirit.
You love to take care of smaller kids and are so good with babies.
You hate to see anyone or anything get hurt.
You love to sew and to make things.
You have an imagination and creativity as big as the Milky Way.
You are now eleven.
You, my tiniest baby, are growing so big…real double digits.
You have some big adventures, right ahead!
But even so you give me the best “morning squeeze” when we are up early in the kitchen.
And you still love playing dolls with your sister, for hours at a time.
I love that about you girls.
We love you so very much, our Sbird.
I think you are wonder-full.
We wish you the happiest of birthdays.
We wish for your birthday wishes to come true.
Even if it means that pineapple farm in Hawaii!
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So, Sunday was the big Christmas tree expedition. My husband, otherwise known as Coffeedoc, is a bit of a maniac about some things. So he has decided that it is not properly Christmas without an “over the river and through the woods” sort of experience…to cut the tree.
See that snow? That’s because in order to CUT (not buy, he doesn’t want them precut in November because he is also a maniac about keeping that tree up until epiphany – or beyond) the tree that I like (Frasier Fir), he has to drive over three hours. Now, before you go and think I am a completely outrageous diva for demanding this…let me clarify. I NEVER ASKED him to schlep drive so far for a tree. I am, always, just happy to have a tree, any tree (though preferably not pine….oops, a diva slippage).
Anyhow, it is becoming something of a new tradition and I kind of like it. But then again, I get to stay home and wrap presents and hang out with Miss M and Gabey Baby. A very lovely relaxing day for us. And while there IS a certain level of grouchiness as they all set out on the expedition, ahem, it makes for a good snowball fight once they are there.
It was Marta’s first time with snow, and snowballs. It was cold, fun, exhausting…and they came home with a pretty tree. So, now, it’s beginning to look a lot more like Christmas!
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It’s the “shortest”day of the year. The least amount of daylight, the longest night.
And it’s perfect timing I’d say. No only because today has been metaphorically a darker day – a slamming day filled with tantrums, sulks, and intensive parenting…but because it’s when I begin to crave the light when the dark is too long. We are made for it. I need it, on so many levels. From the purely physical level of dismay,”Gosh how can it be dark already?” to the mildy fussy blue overtone of my mood for the day. I am craving more light, both inside and out.
That, that craving, is really what Advent is all about, it’s what it’s made for. So too, we are made for the light to come…in a few days. Christmas is almost here, Advent is waning. The dark night is long, and these last few days it’s nice to have that anticipation built in – even to our world’s own nature, and ours.
Yes. I’m ready for Christmas. Not ready, yet, for the details of the day….soon, soon. But for the main event? You betcha. I’m ready. Today, the shortest day of the year, we get one big step closer to it. Each day, a tiny incremental bit brighter, longer. And then, it’s Christmas day and that Light only continues to lengthen and grow. One of my favorite Christmas, or more accurately, Advent hymns is “O Come Emmanuel,” and now, just yesterday, does our Church begin to sing it…in anticipation.
I can’t wait.
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So, here we are again. Turn-keys. Those things that I’m finding to be critical, yeah – Key – to our adjustment with this older child adoption. I’ve written about a couple already, here, and here. And now, I want to write about another: Tears.
What? Tears?
How can those be so important?
Well, they are.
Yeah, it surprises me too.
I am learning that those tears are very important, critical, on different levels and in different ways. Those tears are part of the adjusting, and I am not sure you can really adjust to all the new of an adoption without them. And those tears are for everyone, of course. Because each person in the family needs them….to process the intensity of the changes and the building of new relationships. Now I’ll spare you the blathering about the tears of the rest of us: the jealous tears, the overwhelmed, the frazzled, the blue ones (yeah, it’s tough on moms too). Those are fodder for a different post.
With a younger child, toddler or infant adoption, there are also many tears. They are also critical to the adjustment process. But they are easier to parse out, to understand. They are typically more, not completely, but a bit more developmentally tracked and explained. They are simpler because the child is still slightly simpler. No less heartbreaking, but easier to console and repair. The tears of the turn-key I’m talking about here are the tears of the older adopted child. In this case, our daughter.
It’s hard to sort through all this coherently. But I’ll give it a go.
It seems like it wouldn’t be complex, I mean, it’s crying, right?
Crying is a no brainer.
Kids cry all the time.
They cry, you console.
Done.
Except, not.
When an adjusting older child cries, honestly, at first you kind of brace yourself in dread. You wonder, and fear a little bit, is this going to slip into something bad? Is it going to blow in like a hurricane – tank the day? Because you don’t know this child so intimately yet. You haven’t always seen this before. And you know the potential. So, you brace for it…..whatever IT is. And sometimes, it IS something very hard: rage, deep scarred grief, irrational fear. Sometimes, it’s just overwhelmed or misconception or misunderstanding. Sometimes, it’s just mundane, but ever so powerful, hormones. Or lack of sleep. Or an incoming virus. It’s all over the map, crying. Tears.
Even so. It’s all good. Seems counter intuitive. Our (ok, my) first reaction might, or is, naturally to wish it away, to sigh, to find the fastest way around it all. But, that’s not necessarily the answer either. Those tears are important. If this child is grieving the life they left behind, no matter if that seems unlikely as that life might have been very very harsh, then that grieving must be done. It’s valid; that life was what they knew, loved (some parts) and grew to themselves in.
That, that mess, is a fix. It’s the only and best one. Because you are there, they are not alone, and you’re not gonna run away from it. And so, it gets less scary, for both of you. But, oh, those tears…they hurt. Both of you.
Then there are the new tears. These are the tears that can be both wonderful and frustrating. The frustrating ones are the ones that you, and maybe she, doesn’t understand. They just kind of spring up….from a misunderstanding, frazzled nerves, hormones. From being a teen girl. From sensory overload in a new country. From language gap, culture gap….all sorts of gaps. Those too, mostly just need a little time, maybe a little space, maybe a time to hold or sit nearby. They need to wash away….the weary effort, the bruised feelings. And they do.
Way back, oh 85 years or so ago, I learned in science class that water is the universal solvent. Well, I would say that the water shed in tears, when you are talking about an older child adoption and adjusting, is one of the universal glues. Can be. Maybe not always (I’m talking about us, here, always, ever…that’s all I know), but oh so often they are. These tears are bonding. The happy over the top joyful tears…they are just fun. They pull you all in with a grin. But the other kind….It’s hard not to care about a child who is sobbing next to you (even when you wish it weren’t so). For the child to allow you to see them, hold them, at their most vulnerable….that is the beginning of trust. For you to sit with them, hold them, get soaked by their tears…console them. That is the beginning of family.
A few days ago, a sibling moment occurred. It was a pretty typical moment – if had happened between most of the kids. However, it was the first between Marta and another. And it was a a flash. But, it cut to the quick for her. It launched one of those tear spilling, walking away times. It meant the evening would now be redirected. And it was. But, it was one of those turn-key times. Because as I consoled Marta and talked to her about what happened, she slowly sat up in bed and hugged her pillow to her. Then Bananas came in and flopped on her bed on the other side of the room they share. And she saw Marta, still crying. I said, “Has this happened to you?” And Bananas laughed and said, “Oh yeah! See, Marta, it’s like this…..” and she went on to act out the same interaction with the same sib.
And very soon, Marta was laughing with us as she snuffled up her tears, eyes red rimmed. And I froze the moment in my mind. These tears were healing. These tears were bonding. These tears were typical of any sibling scuffle. And this image, two sisters laughing about a sib, both on their beds in pj’s, while one allowed us to see her snuffling and gulping a bit as she came to calm, the other trying hard to make her laugh and move on…that’s a FAMILY. That’s what happens in families. So, yeah, these tears: they helped turn a bit closer to family. And I am grateful for even this tough turn-key. Another one made of gold.
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Last year I posted daily on the O Antiphons. This year has been a bit too crazed for me to post daily on, um, anything! However, my son, Buddybug, has. So this is a shameless brag on my boy and a link to his site so you can get them there. They really are beautiful. Go, read, enjoy a little Christmas peace. (And we’ll find out just how he had time to post these during finals, later.)
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So, did ya hear the news?
Did ya hear that now “they” are saying that coffee can help stave off type 2 diabetes?
Yessirree…..you read that right! That’s my ‘cup o joe!’
No kidding, it was a research study, totally legit, go here for the article and link.
Now, what this inquiring mind really wants to know is if that also applies to pushing back the progression of type 2 diabetes?? Now we’re getting personal. Because I’ve got that. And I still feel a tad betrayed by my body. But…. you all know I’m all about the coffee. So, this is a bit of news that makes my day.
And even if they don’t specify the benefits of pots of coffee on (already) insulin challenged folks per se…..I’m gonna run with it. It’s only logical, right?
Anything to further justify and support my caffiene habit connoisseurship, works for me.
Woohoo.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
I’m gonna go pour another cup.
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So. Feeling a bit like Sisyphus. By which I mean, I feel like I’m pushing a big boulder uphill; but without the great physique. Maybe I’ve got a teeny bit of the determination. But, yeah, the boulder….it’s big…and sliding.
Had first meeting today. No door was shut in my face. Yet. But it surely wasn’t opened either. Already numerous objections and concerns brought forth, and of the intangible variety. The problem of other parents and reactions and ‘integrity’ of school. The problem of funding resources on an official level. Bureaucracy. You all know how much we love that around here. So, a little down this afternoon….but not out. Because it’s not a ‘no’ until it’s a NO. Until then we will knock on doors and make the calls and examine the angles.
The blues of this though, is that is shouldn’t be this way. If it’s a legal thing, maybe. If it’s a money thing, maybe. But if it’s a ‘we haven’t done that’ thing, or a “people won’t like it” thing….then it makes us/me dig in. Push. Slip. Push. Wait. Push.
For today I will wait; I trust that my concerns will be looked into. But I’m cynical enough to think that it won’t be the answer I want. But for the moment, I will try to wait a few days. And hold that boulder steady.
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So this week I am gearing up. No, not for Christmas, don’t be ridiculous! I don’t go into overdrive on that until four days before the big day. We’ve got plenty of time! Nope, I’m gearing up for a week of meetings with schools. I’ve been brainstorming with a few good friends (Nora, you’re the best) and consulting with therapists and tutors. And this week, I’ve got meetings for both Marta and Sbird regarding school and how to meet their needs.
When you have a kid, or two or three, who don’t fit the regulation mold or requirements for regular standard issue schools, you have to plot and plan on how to make things work. You have to consult brainstorm and pray to figure out solutions that are positive and scenarios that will support your kid’s needs and how they can learn where they are at. ADHD, school delays, language barriers…this is just a few of the hurdles. And so, as a mom, you “put on your cape,” strap on your armor, and you set up meetings. You go prepared to be charming, persuasive, as well as firm and clear headed. You brace for battle and hope for miracles.
And so I am. I will be praying through this week, hoping for great solutions and brave hearts and minds, willing to try something new and different. If you have a mind to pray, I’d appreciate prayers for this as well (if you remember in the midst of the festive preparations). And while I hate to beg again for prayers, we have so often, I will. Because I have some research to sift through, others to present to those in charge. Because I will go to the mat for my kid(s). I will beat the bushes for tutors and helpers and beat on principal’s doors (nicely but firmly). I will try to open some eyes to new possibilities, not only for my kids but to open a few doors that have been shut too long.
It would be a miracle but we need some new options after the new year. And this week, I’m gonna see if we can’t make some headway into making one, or a few, of those become real. And that would be the best Christmas present of all.
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It’s the Feast of St. John of the Cross.
St. John of the Cross is one of the Doctors of the Church, a renowned Mystic, and has some of the deepest thinking and most beautiful writing of the Church. It is no easy read however and I have only barely dipped into some of his writings. His most famous work is, of course, “The Dark Night of the Soul.” I learned about him first through my love of the writings of St. Teresa of Avila, a close friend of St. John. Together they worked to reform the Carmelite Order which had strayed from it’s founding principles of poverty and prayer. And so they did.
St. John knows of that tough spot, desolation, difficulty in prayer, and yet, he knows it’s bounty as well and the beauty that can be found even in that. He writes beautifully of the call to die to one’s self. No small feat that, but in that, in bearing life’s crosses, we become more truly us and therefore closer to God. He also wrote that “Silence is God’s first language.” See, so much for me to learn! That’s one of the reasons I like him.
Here is another, a quote:
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It’s the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe!
Being from the southwest, growing up in Arizona specifically, I have a special fondness for Our Lady of Guadalupe. And you know, I just like most everything about this feast day and Our Lady of Guadalupe. I love the Mexican culture, the food to celebrate, the miracles, the roses, the prayers, the colors, the music, the textiles. What’s not to love?
The short version of Our Lady of Guadalupe is, of course, that she appeared to St. Juan Diego on his way to Mass. She asked for a church to be built on the spot. She asked him to ask the Bishop. He agreed, the Bishop didn’t want to believe him. So he kind of griped to Mary, saying that he couldn’t get the Bishop to listen and he wanted a sign.. She told Juan to gather flowers from Tepeyac Hill, (ones that weren’t indigenous and it was winter) and so he gathered the roses (that had miraculously bloomed in the winter snow) up in his cloak. When he got to the Bishop, he spilled the roses out in the office and on his tilma (A type of cloak) was the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe! Full wikipedia version here.
This is one of those times where once again, we see the universality of the Church. Mary is not only our mother if you are of white european ancestry, but of course, she is mother to us all – the world over. And in Mexico, today, you can see the festival celebrating her, complete with all the local cultural trimmings.
Coffeedoc and I went to Mexico City on his fortieth birthday, to go see the tilma for ourselves. And you know, there was a time when part of me just kind of took the ‘folklore’ appreciation route with Our Lady of Guadalupe. My folklore background would kick in and I’d get caught up in all the sensual aspects: the colors, textures, foods, fiestas…the layers and layers that are part of any long historical memorial.
But, going to Mexico City, to the Basilica’s – the old and the new – well, it’s one of those things. You go. You see the pilgrims who have traveled there ON THEIR KNEES. You see the thousands and thousands of milagros pinned up (Small metal tokens of thanksgiving left behind for answered prayers). And you see the tilma. You stand in front of the tilma, and scour it with your own eyes. You pray. And it’s like C.S. Lewis says, to paraphrase: you either believe, or you think they are all lying (Or it’s a big scam), or that they are crazy.
Well, I don’t think they are all lying and I don’t think that it’s a scam. I think Our Lady of Guadalupe has made a huge difference in so many lives. And I don’t think they are all crazy either. Especially not after being there. But I didn’t really ever ascribe to that one either. I believe. I believe Our Lady of Guadalupe is another manifestation of Our Blessed Mother. And that like any mom, she will go to where her children are and where they need her. And so she did.
I recently helped Miss M, my 5th grader, learn this for a Spanish quiz at school, we prayed a spanish rosary. So, in honor of Our Lady of Guadalupe:
Ave María (Hail Mary)
Dios te salve, María. Llena eres de gracia: El Señor es contigo.
Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres. Y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre: Jesús.
Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores,
ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amén.
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Today is my son’s birthday!
My Booboo is 18!
Oh. My. Goodness.
I know, I know…this is when I (and many other moms) will blather on about how fast time flies and how we can’t believe it. But, you know what? Wow, time flies and I can’t believe it!!!
My little goofy boy with the solemn face and big brown eyes is officially all grown up. I could get all misty just typing this. And yet…and yet….I so very much like the young man he has grown into. Even without the motherly bias…he is a great young man. I totally enjoy his company and he is good. He is kind. He has a good heart to go with his big brain and big sense of adventure and humor. He has very big adventure’s ahead, I know it.
My Booboo, you are heading off to many adventures: college, jobs, traveling the world, falling in love.
But you are and will always be, to me, first, my boy.
The one with the big brown eyes.
And duckling hair that wouldn’t stay down.
And solemn face, hiding the big grin and twinkling eyes.
You are funny, witty and clever and can make me laugh so hard that I cry.
You can also make me fume and have steam coming out of my ears.
And while you currently ‘know everything,’ that is all too soon to change.
I will miss that, a little bit.
Your quirks make me smile; you are an old soul.
You were an ‘old man’ the day you were born.
You love cardigans, ‘old man’.
You love a hot tea and soft slippers, old man.
You love a long nap on the sofa, old man.
You carry problems, yours and others, heavily, ‘old man.”
You have helped to carry mine.
And you are one of my heroes.
Your world view is bigger than most.
Your judgement is usually good (except the occasional right hand turn, ahem) and your integrity is impeccable.
You even managed to find your girlfriend in one of your best friends, and are handling the relationship with respect and trust.
And even with this, you show us your sound judgement and good taste, both, as she is both beautiful and kind.
You are also still full of small boy mischief and crave adventure.
You want to jump out of airplane and dive into the sea.
You want to start record companies and jam late into the night.
You want to polar bear dive into the cold winter waters.
And snowboard down the fastest slopes.
{And live with the injuries that those sports and adventures bring.}
You love magic and practical jokes,
You love to laugh and make others laugh.
And you’re good at it.
You’re cool enough to happily be silly.
You love a bargain and are my frugal child, and yet still the mogul in the family.
You love babies, but not so much children.
You love music and are getting to be so talented.
I love your acoustic guitar playing, but not so much the loud techno.
You love turtles.
Maybe because you hide your big soft heart behind a turtle shell of stoic and tough.
But I know better.
Because Booboo, you are my boy, now a young man.
And we have always been so close.
And I hope, we always will be.
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Oh, it’s a big feast today! It’s one of those feasts: an uber Catholic one.
It’s the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, a holy day of obligation.
One of the big Marian feasts, and one that often gives many folks some consternation (from a scratch on the head to fits). For a good explanation of it all, go here (and scroll down for all those, “What’s up with that” “How can that be?” kind of responses). I can’t give you a great theological treatise on it. It took brilliant theologians from the east and west to determine this one over the centuries, but they did because we are human. And our inquiring minds want to know, and puzzle and ponder. So those who have gone before us prayed and debated and concluded. I can say that it only makes sense to my puny brain.
For a long time, I thought that the “immaculate conception” referred to Mary’s conception of Jesus, you know, with the descent of the Holy Spirit and Gabriel and all…clean, tidy, right? But no, it’s actually about Mary and her being preserved from the stain of original sin. Confusing, a little, huh? Well, this is how it parses out in my old mom brain: God himself is all love and of course, without sin. God came to us in his son, Christ, who was also without sin (being God and all). Since all purity and all love cannot coexist with the stain of sin, how could Christ come to us as a man, without first having a pure ‘vessel’, if you will? Well, he couldn’t, that would not correspond with the natural/divine order. Growing in utero is, utterly, coexisting. So, if God cannot coexist with sin, then a human mom to be would have to be found, sinless. And thus, since God is beyond time, he prepared Mary, {from her conception of course}, to be without sin. Because God knew, outside of time, that Mary would be the perfect (literally and figuratively) mom for Jesus.
Now, I think that’s cool! It makes perfect sense to me and really is one of those ‘clap your hands, I get it” kind of moments. Yeah, it’s uber Catholic. But hey, I love being Catholic because (well, so many reasons) its cool and rich and takes my breath away. And of course, I love feasts….so it’s a good day!
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us!
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And not only does he have a fun cool name, he was an outstanding teacher and Bishop of the Church in the early years; elected Bishop of Milan in 340. A wealthy politician, he ended up giving away all his material goods to the poor.
I like him because though many thought he’d be “a player,” politically speaking, as a Bishop, he wasn’t. At least not in the sense that was perhaps hoped for by the players of the time. He perhaps used his political savvy, but for good. And that is just the sort of saint we need in this duplicitous day and age of politics and media…..
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I might have mentioned once or twice that I have a large family – a fair number of kidletts. People will ask me, “How do you do it all?” They see my brood and the hustle and bustle and are often incredulous, and maybe a little freaked out (And probably thinking, “Whew, not me!). Sometimes I smile and say, “The big kids help, it’s not so much.” And that’s true. More often I might say, “I don’t! I have help. It’s one of the secrets to a big family: built in helpers.” Even more often, I say, “Well, I fail. Every day.” And that’s probably the most accurate of all.
Reality Check: Sometimes, you have tough weeks. Not even extra-ordinary weeks with some disaster that defines the days. But rather, you have ordinary days, a week filled with laundry and school and homework and juggling schedules. But for some reason, that week is tough. Sometimes, thankfully not so often, but sometimes….despite the standard mundane moments, it seems like every single person needs just a bit, or quite a lot, MORE, somehow.
On those days, that usual sense of paddling as fast as you can, maybe dropping a few balls here and there….kind of shifts.
And then, you realize that you feel, for the moment, (to borrow an old phrase) like you are being pecked to death by baby ducks.
So, for those of you who wonder how any of us “do it all,” I’d like to honestly say that some days you (ok, me) just feel a little overrun, and maybe you (ok, me) fantasize for a moment or two about flights to faraway tropical islands – one way. So, that’s part of the package. Not all that rare I suspect. But yeah, it’s been one of those weeks.
I’ve been stewing about some things lately. You know what that means: a jumbly rambling possibly ranting post. Fair warning.
It’s just that I’m getting tired. Not physically tired, psychically tired. Emotionally and intellectually tired. I’m just dipping my toes into a new pool of sorts. And while we’ve lived with some of this for, oh, seven years or so….the more formal social and educational aspect of this is hitting closer to home now.
Now that I’ve thoroughly confused you, I want to say it out loud. But this term, this subject, is loaded. It is rife with taboos and thorns and unwritten rules, as well as rules written at length and all but incomprehensible. And even more, all too often, with ignorance from folks on the outside looking in (And hey, I’ll admit, that used to be me). Yes, I’m talking about “special needs.”
Special Needs.
Yeah, such a simple little set of words.
But OH MY GOODNESS, so very loaded.
Now, I could do a post and be like the “Church Lady” and point out what we all already know:
Dana Carvey, the Church LadyBut this post is about another aspect of “special needs.”
And it’s that I am tired of the taboos.
I am tired of not being able to say things out loud, for fear of stigma.
I am tired of when I do say it, somehow voices drop to a whisper, or I get an “Oh….ahh” and a quick look away kind of response.
Or worse, a well meaning defense of my kid saying “No way, that can’t be right.”
This is all making me want to strap on my mom armor and go to battle.
I have two, possibly three, kids who have special needs. Yeah, I could say, “different needs” or something like that. But I am tired and too old to be tiptoeing through the ever shifting sands of pc (or, more accurately: ‘sc’, socially correct) verbage. I mean they have needs that are, big or small, outside the standard box.
Disclaimer ahead: So, to be clear, in this post, I am talking about kids who don’t fit the mold of standard track education or behaviors or medical issues. Special needs comes in all different forms and levels and severity, so I cannot speak to those needs that are not ours and would not try to. I can speak to what we are working with, in our home, with my kids. Disclaimer over.
What I want to throw out there (And maybe it’s naive, and I hope the special ed/needs community doesn’t flame me): Why the taboo?
Why do we have to whisper about this stuff?
Why is there such stigma?
Why does it have to be?
Why do well meaning folks instantly say, “No, that can’t be right?” as if, if it IS accurate, then somehow that child is less than they were perceived prior to the new knowledge?
Nothing changes with this knowledge.
The child, my child, is not a different person if we know more about them and how their mind works.
Their “worth” is in no way based on how they learn or if they have glitches or if they cannot.
It’s fine tuning.
Special needs information is not an appraisal of value or rank, it’s information gathering; it is problem solving. It’s fine tuning; academic approaches, behavioral needs, medical stuff….it’s figuring out what works best for them and why. Period.
And I want to start talking out loud about some of the issues we are working through.
And I fear I cannot online due to the possibility of hurting my child somehow, somewhere, someday.
I want to try to open up to other families who might be dealing with some of these issues to share tips and ideas.
Even here, even now, I have to hedge a bit, worry about protecting them.
But the beauty of this blog world is the connection. I have been repeatedly amazed and grateful for the prayers and the help and the advice and the simple feeling of not being alone…due to this blog community. And I suspect there might be other families that have children who have medical, educational, behavior issues that are out there.
Heck there is an alphabet jungle out there of issues, we have a small forest of them in my house. Is it wrong to want to use resources, to connect to help my kids? To help me? I don’t think so.
I hope that maybe other moms might be tired of not being able to talk about this part of their family life. I hope that other moms might be tired of their kids being slotted into a stereotype due to a possible “label” or some small bit of information. That small bit of information, that acronym, or term, is a tiny (or, sometimes, large) facet of who they really are – the wholeness of their person.
Are there any moms out there who are tired of pushing against the tide of perception?
I am.
I want to break out.
I want to talk about my kids.
I want to talk about all my kids.
I want to have conversations about special needs – without the stigma.
I want to shout: having a different approach or way of learning or brain wiring doesn’t make you less.
It’s different. Less common maybe.
It takes some brainstorming, a lot sometimes.
Don’t slot my kid, don’t presume.
They may really have that issue, and it’s a little scary.
They may not, but then they probably have another one to work on.
But that very thing (the one that’s not ‘pc’ to talk about outright), might just be one of their strengths as well, depending on how you look at it.
But, let’s break the taboo.
Let’s start saying these things out loud.
If you can’t speak of it, name it, it has so much more power, but the wrong kind.
And that breaks my heart.
But it also makes me angry because it’s wrong.
We have to advocate and be strong for these kids especially.
So I guess I’m talking. Armor on.
Because they deserve it.
Because they are beautiful.
And I’m their mom.
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Waiting.
This blog is about nothing if not waiting.
Waiting is one of the very worst skills of mine; by which I mean, I stink at waiting.
I am wretched at waiting because I have no patience.
So, of course I have had to wait many times, and surely will continue to.
And it is surely the reason I have eight children.
I have waited for many things and people over the years.
Sometimes I fall into the huge trap of “wishing away my life” (as they say here in the south) by the way I wait.
It’s true.
I have done that far too much, far too often.
I suspect I’ve lost years.
I have waited impatiently, filled with busyness, to finish college.
To get into grad school and out again.
Waited for Coffeedoc to finish med school. Then internship. Then residency.
Waited to stop being broke.
Waited to get married (seven years dating, so, I’m not kidding).
Waited to get pregnant (but only the third time…and that wait was particularly long and particularly difficult on all levels).
Waited to adopt. To be selected by a birthmom. To hold that baby.
Waited to adopt from Ethiopia. To jump through the paperwork hoops. To be matched with a referral. To pass court. To travel.
Waited for the CDC to clear my daughter to come home. To be allowed to travel.
Heck, I can turn waiting for Coffeedoc to get home for dinner into a sporting event.
So, yeah, I wait…all too often. And I do it all wrong.
Patience is NOT one of my virtues. Thus, I suffer a bit, or a lot, waiting.
The reason to drone on about all this waiting is that today is a special day.
Today is the day to try, once again, to approach waiting in the right spirit.
Today is the day to reframe the waiting into a better approach: preparation.
Today is the day to recognize the beauty of the wait: the anticipation, the slow glow of expectation.
Today is the first Sunday of Advent.
I love Advent.
When done right Advent is a season (four Sundays) of rich tradition, prayerful contemplative expectation, a settling into the deep; it is combined with an overlaid gauze of building excitement.
It is a preparation -not for a Christmas morning frenzy of torn wrapping paper and too many gifts.
But rather, a mindful preparation for the advent, literally the ‘coming,’ of the most important gift of all.
I almost always fail Advent.
I stay mired in the cycling hubub of my house, the must do’s, the should’s, the pressures and strains. I get lost in the jumble of calendar commitments and then resent the time they snatch away.
It’s the curse of the goal oriented…this sense of ‘eye on the prize.’ Get to Christmas, make it happen.
But the trap is that then you miss the process, the very beauty of the anticipation.
You miss one of the most beautiful seasons of the year.
I wish away this gorgeous season.
This year, once again, I hope to be more mindful.
To prepare the gifts early enough to stop the last minute frantic fretting and gathering.
To dig in and slow way down.
I hope and pray to see and stop and savor the small moments – the ones I might miss as I move so fast through the days.
This is Advent. It’s a beautiful time of preparation, inside and out.
It’s almost Christmas! He is coming.
The waiting begins again.
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I could go on for days, and should go on for my lifetime, listing the things I am thankful for. So many, too many to list or count, more than I deserve. So, for today, I will say that I am unspeakably grateful for my friends (blog and in person), family, and abundant life, for the gift of faith and the Catholic church, for the guests and the jokes, the turmoil and the fears and the cheers. All of it. For my crazy loud hectic chaotic wonderful life. Every blessed moment.
And with that, this is the best way for me to show what I’m thankful for, the most important parts:
I am so very deeply thankful. Happy Thanksgiving!
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So. Laura and Christine have “awarded” me this tag….and while I usually ignore all these, I feel a bit scroogelike and ungrateful to not acknowledge them being so nice to link to me and my goofy blog. Actually, I feel a tad like Sally Field being glad someone likes her. Both of these gals have lovely blogs and the ones they tagged are all worth a closer look as well! The best reason for me to put this up is that I now get to list/link to seven blogs that I like very much. Ooohhhh, the choices……like a kid in a candy shop….
So without further ado, seven things about myself (Again? in my aging brain fog…I fear I might be being redundant…):
1. I grew up riding horses in the desert of Arizona. I still miss the desert and those long views and that particular beauty.
2. I misplace my glasses ALL the time. I am mercilessly reminded by my children that I have misplaced my sunglasses in the fridge.
3. I thought I’d grow up to be just like Mary Tyler Moore….throwing my beret up in glee in the big city, a cool working gal.
4. I’ve always been easy to tease; it made me suffer somewhat as a child in a big family. Now it makes me laugh.
5. My Grandpa, the only one I ever knew, used to call me “Movie Star.” And it totally embarrassed me but I also kind of loved it.
6. Yes, I have always been rather dull, WAKE UP…the GOOD blog links are coming right up.
7. I never dreamed I’d have eight kids, or live the life I do – much less be happy with it. And that’s the most wonderful hysterical surprise treasure of all.
DONE
Ok, and now, in no particular order (Hey, I’ve learned a thing or two over the years….), are seven blog links to blogs that I always check in on….because they make me think, smile, ponder….at any rate, they are worth a click. Check ’em out.
1. Jen at Conversion Diary: Yeah, its a Catholic blog, but its also a mom blog and she is a deep thinker but also blunt and honest and real. I love reading her blog and also with this one you get a two for one deal: she has another blog that is just perfect for those bored procrastinating moments (admit it, we all do it), called appropriately enough: Jennifer’s Favorite Links.
2. Becca, at Albertson Debrief. I love her because she wears her heart on her sleeve and loves fiercely, no matter what. She stands up for what she believes whether or not its considered “pc” and for that, she inspires me.
3. Courtney Rose, at Dandies in the Sunshine. She is another thinker and a feeler and I love to read her writing and her blog, because again it’s real and funny and honest. She’s full of passion and it comes right through the screen.
4. Lori, at The Road to Our Own, because, well, her family is beautiful, their hearts are beautiful. They live this bountiful life and actually seem to be aware of it along the way. That’s rare air. Plus Abe is adorable and she is a special gal.
5. Jen, at Leap of Faith, because she has an awesome family, is very sharp and has a heart that runs deep. She is also witty and savvy; her blog follows the addition of their beautiful Bella (yeah, I know, but that is the good kind of redundant) and just following a functional happy family gives hope in this darkish world.
6. Thankful Mom at A Bushel and A Peck, this blog is one that I track closely because she ‘gets it.’ She has an ongoing series called “My learning curve” that always has great tips and thoughts that are applied to kids who are working through some issues perhaps: attachment and such. But the secret is that these tips and ideas can be applied to any and all kids, each family. I always come away with more to think about or an “aha” moment from her.
7. Zoe, at Chasing Saints. I like to visit Zoe’s blog because, first off, she has the coolest banner going. Go. See. But secondly, she is a mere youngster (ok, to me) but she ‘gets it.” She’s very sharp, she’s on the adoption journey, and she’s a thought-full Catholic who knows her stuff.
Anyhow. I’m honored. I feel a little doofy, but it’s worth it if you go read those blogs. They are worth your time! Happy Thanksgiving!
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“Mr. Scott! I need warp speed, now!”
(And yes I realize I have, once again, revealed my age by the reference….but there you have it, this was my era).
I love love love this holiday, but it’s a major undertaking too. Much yummy cooking and much hostessing of far flung family (and I’m not the natural that Lori is, ahem). It all usually comes together, somehow, but it’s something of a race. Thus, blogging may be light.
Now if I just had a transporter….I’d be good to go! See you on the far side….
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I’ve written a bit about what I have found, for us at least, to be “turn-keys” in the process of adoption and adjustment. Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about another key (again, disclaimer: These are just my humble bossy opinions, not any expert or professional claim to knowledge). This key is one of the oldest and most important, for all parenting, but ever more so – if possible – for the process of adjustment in adoption. Yup, it’s “touch.”
I know, doh.
Touch.
A no-brainer, right?
Well, maybe not so much. Maybe it’s a no brainer if you are a naturally ‘touchy-feely’ person (And really, I think most would say I am, but still…). Maybe its a no-brainer if you are talking about giving birth to a child, or even adopting a tiny infant. With babies, bio or otherwise, our species is biologically programmed to respond to the cries of an infant, to hold to soothe to touch it to comfort. It’s a natural, right?
But with any child, and I mean ANY child, regardless of their mode of arrival into your family…..there are times when, you know, you just don’t really feel like touching them so much.
Shocked, are you?
Have I revealed too much of my cold stony selfish heart?
Hmmm, c’mon, admit it, who hasn’t been grossed out by the quantity and quality of projectile vomit that a smallish baby or child can, um, expel?
Who hasn’t been gagging when their baby smears the contents of their diaper all around the crib? (Hey, 8 kids, yes, they’ve done that. Don’t judge me.)
Call me crazy, but I’m not so into the cuddly canoodling at those times. I am more than happy for a little personal space….
And really, who hasn’t thought “Fine then” when the attitude riven teen throws a snit and stomps out of the room? Who hasn’t been grateful, even ONCE, to have them sleep in, just a little while for that peaceful solo quiet time in the morning?
Not you? Well, then, stop reading, this post is not for you.
But for the rest of us, for ME, this is a huge deal.
Touch.
For your standard issue kid, its a huge deal when they are tots and need all that imprinting bonding caring loving. It’s at least as big or a bigger deal as they move through their stages of wild little kid, to the scary times as the world opens up to them in school and beyond, to the awkward times of preteen and the touchy times of full blown “I know everything” teenagerhood. This is when you have to remember: touch them.
Hug them, they need it so much.
They might only lean against you as a hug back. They might not even seem to register that pat on the arm, but it makes a difference. A huge huge difference. Prickly or not, possibly even more then, those little touches during a day can bridge a lot of troubled water.
This brings me to the turn-key. If touch can make such a huge, ongoing, difference in the relationship and life of a child in your home from infancy, imagine the importance of touch with a child who is new to your home. And if you are talking about an older child (And, of course, I am now), and if that child is a hurt child (Which most older children who are adopted are, of course), and if that child doesn’t have your language….well, this turn-key is made of gold.
So it seems, again, simple, a no brainer, right?
Touch the kid.
Let them touch you.
Hug them.
And yet, it’s not nearly so simple after all. Because what you don’t read so much in all those stacks of adoption books is that it can be hard, touch-wise, with an older child. Cuddling a baby or toddler is automatic, almost, we are primed and programmed and enchanted to do it. An older child is, forgive me as this is not so “politically correct,” not necessarily always so enchanting and we are not primed and programmed to touch them. We are strangers. We have not crossed those boundaries yet. Formally, on paper, yes. But in actual practice, no.
The initial meet and hugs and kisses are kind of driven along by adrenaline on both sides. But then comes the moment when you all kind of look at each other and wonder. It’s much like an arranged marriage, without the extended courtship and chaperones.
Many older adopted children are also simply starved for physical affection. Starved. Hungry. Hungry to touch and be touched. And so you do, they do, you must. They are starved for safe comforting embracing touch – touch that doesn’t hurt in any way. So, we had, and so many have, an intense instant need on Marta’s part for touch, kiss, hugs, holds, just skin on skin. And it’s weird. In a way, it’s strange to immediately jump boundaries that our modern American ways have fixed into place over decades.
But this is a key, one of THE keys. You touch.
You do it.
And its by the doing, the touching that you start to step over those walls, you stop being strangers, you start being family. The more I touch her, in the caring mode of mom, the closer I get – literally and figuratively. The more I sit nestled next to her, with her feet draped over my shins, the more time our skin is next to skin, the more we blend together.
It sounds so simple, but in practice, it can be an act of will. Wash her back, paint her nails, do her hair, put lotion on face, hold her when she’s sobbing, hold her when she’s sick.
And oddly enough this touching is a sort of claiming.
At first it’s a formal dance of sorts, an acting out of the proper roles.
Eventually, it starts to become real. It’s an intimacy of family. Only family brings the sick kid into mom and dad’s bed, clammy, with her holding your hand to her sore throat, not letting go.
Babies claim you as they sleep snuggle and cling to you for their every need.
Toddlers and little kids claim you in passing fierce hugs and climbing on you when needy.
Older kids, they claim you by leaning on you, by sitting next to you or draped across you, asking you to do their hair, fix their clothes, feel their forehead.
I know, this is all obvious.
But the part of the key that is important, for me, is the part that “fits in my hand”. See the keys up top? See the scrolled beautiful head of the key? This is the part I, or you, hold. And this is MY part. Because now I see that by touching this child, caring for her, letting her claim me by touch and touching her back as mine, giving her a sponge bath for a fever, checking her eyes for stray lashes, her braces for sprung wire…I claim her too. And I think, or am learning, that if I hold back from those touches, no matter how strange at first, then I lose.
It’s the touch itself that seals the claim, builds it, and turns it into family.
>This tidbit is just too fun to resist, so I’m copying most of it here. It made me smile on a rocky day. (h/t to Anchoress)
The Dominican Tertiary from Italy is actually shown holding his rosary and his beloved skis, but I thought it was amusing, just the same. And since we know (in fact we have the pictures to prove it) that Pier Giorgio had a wonderful sense of humor, I bet he’d find it amusing, as well.
It has been shamelessly lifted from both the Anchoress, and from Father Z, but I hope they won’t mind….I’m a tiny fish in the humongous ‘net pond,’ and they are big time. But with the frenzy over THE premiere of that vampire series (you know the one I”m talking about, unless you live in a cave in the desert and have no access to teen girls or tabloids in the supermarket), and the current vogue over all things vampire…this made me smile, and think of my boy. All good.
Buddybug has a great devotion and affection for Blessed Pier Giorgio. And really, what’s not to like? He was fun, kind, devout, athletic, outgoing, handsome, charming young guy…plus he was Italian! All good, and his pure heart and soul made him shine – and does still, even now.
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And somehow, the cat only lets Gabey pick her up.>
Its the feast of St. Elizabeth of Hungary.She is a special saint and an amazing woman. There are “Mother Teresa’s” in every generation — usually many at any given time. St. Elizabeth was one of those in her time (1207 – 1231). We’ve given our daughter SBird, St. Elizabeth as a patron and pray for her prayers and intercession for her. Today we celebrate her feast and the best way I know how is to lift from the readings of the day from the Liturgy of the Hours (with a h/t to Coffeedoc for this).
She was a daughter of the King of Hungary. She was given in marriage to Ludwig, the Landgrave of Thuringia, by whom she had three children. She frequently meditated on heavenly things and when her husband died she embraced poverty and built a hospice in which she cared for the sick herself.
Oil painting on copper by Adam Elsheimer (1578-1610)From a letter of Conrad of Marburg, Saint Elizabeth’s spiritual director
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Elizabeth recognised and loved Christ in the poor
From this time onward Elizabeth’s goodness greatly increased. She was a lifelong friend of the poor and gave herself entirely to relieving the hungry. She ordered that one of her castles should be converted into a hospital in which she gathered many of the weak and feeble. She generously gave alms to all who were in need, not only in that place but in all the territories of her husband’s empire. She spent all her own revenue from her husband’s four principalities, and finally she sold her luxurious’ possessions and rich clothes for the sake of the poor.
Twice a day, in the morning and in the evening, Elizabeth went to visit the sick. She personally cared for those who were particularly repulsive; to some she gave food, to others clothing; some she carried on her own shoulders, and performed many other kindly services. Her husband, of happy memory, gladly approved of these charitable works. Finally, when her husband died, she sought the highest perfection; filled with tears, she implored me to let her beg for alms from door to door.
On Good Friday of that year, when the altars had been stripped, she laid her hands on the altar in a chapel in her own town, where she had established the Friars Minor, and before witnesses she voluntarily renounced all worldly display and everything that our Saviour in the gospel advises us to abandon. Even then she saw that she could still be distracted by the cares and worldly glory which had surrounded her while her husband was alive. Against my will she followed me to Marburg. Here in the town she built a hospice where she gathered together the weak and the feeble. There she attended the most wretched and contemptible at her own table.
Apart from those active good works, I declare before God that I have seldom seen a more contemplative woman. When she was coming from private prayer, some religious men and women often saw her face shining marvellously and light coming from her eyes like the rays of the sun.
Before her death I heard her confession. When I asked what should be done about her goods and possessions, she replied that anything which seemed to be hers belonged to the poor. She asked me to distribute everything except one worn out dress in which she wished to be buried. When all this had been decided, she received the body of our Lord. Afterward, until vespers, she spoke often of the holiest things she had heard in sermons. Then, she devoutly commended to God all who were sitting near her, and as if falling into a gentle sleep, she died.”
Happy feast day, Sbird!
St. Elizabeth of Hungary, pray for us!>http://www.youtube.com/get_player
And so he will video you rather than put you to nap.
Those are my boys!
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Today is the feast of St. Francis Xavier Cabrini.
She is also known as Mother Cabrini; and a saint that is known as “Mother” is usually a very special saint indeed. Its the mom factor, they don’t throw that word around lightly, you know? Nor should they! Anyhow, Mother Cabrini is a special saint, though not as well known as many.
She is known for starting hospitals, schools and orphanages in her native Italy and then right here in America. She was sent to America by Pope Leo the 13th. And as she was born in Italy but came to live out her days in American, she is also, importantly, an immigrant. She is the first American citizen, and an immigrant to boot, to be canonized.
So, lets make a list: uber organized, holy, immigrant, strong woman in a man’s world, courageous, started orphanages, hospitals, and schools. And, last but not least, she came from a large family too. Bigger than ours even! So, how many links does that give us (by which I mean, me and my family)? I’m losing count. So, I figure she’s a sort of patron of our family and the causes that pull at our hearts….the same ones that pull at many of yours. And if that is the case for you, then have a chat with Mother Cabrini, ask her for prayers. Surely, I know, she will pray faithfully for your intentions and concerns….because she has a mom’s heart.
St. Francis Xavier Cabrini, pray for us!>
Yeah, it’s the post birthday picture report.
Because this birthday yesterday was kind of extra special…I’m can’t help it. I gotta post some pics. You know I have to! If only for the far flung family types……
And I have to say that this day was kind of loaded, on different levels. We weren’t sure if it was going to be a boffo day or a bust. And so we made sure to have it follow, as precisely as possible, the standard traditions of our family bdays. Marta has seen several now and so it was important to have it play out the same way, but with it being her turn. And so it did.
There was a lot of “Oh my goodness!” and many bounces up from the chair to hug and kiss, or a “come here” demand for a hug and kiss. Every single card and present got oohed and aahed over. Every card needed a kiss/hug. We had to say “Open it!” because Marta would just stare at the shiny wrapping with a grin…relishing even that. Every gift had a minimum of three springs out of her chair to hug/kiss.
There was much giggling, the usual small boy grabbing and tugging, the usual chaos and noise and mess. There was her favorite penne with a simple but super tomato/pancetta sauce, salad and strawberry pink ice cream cake, candles, singing and clapping.
A big, very good, momentarily overwhelming here and there, terrific sparkly day. And I’m just so glad.
Even the big kids were grinning real grins, it was just a happy thing to see.
And that makes me ridiculously happy, for her, for us, for the family.
A little tired maybe, but very happy.
And she is still floating and giggling.
And listening to Michael Jackson cd’s. 
A first and thirteenth birthday can be a very good thing indeed.
Another Espresso, Please 