How am I Raising a California Valley Girl in Iowa?

I was talking with my oldest daughter the other day--one of my favorites, because every day when our family of seven is together is a favorite day. She was telling me a story about her work. These are the best.  

I digress here a moment. Mommas of young kids, you have something so fun coming! When your kids get jobs, they are going to tell you stories about their days.  Coworkers, bosses, clients... It's endlessly entertaining to listen to them talk about incidents, personalities, and their own reactions and responses. Both my grown kids have always worked in fields where they are caring for others, which seems inevitably to earn some riotous stories about outlandish behavior and/or bodily fluids. Best shows in town!

Back on track. So, we are listening to a story. She was not at the end of the story, but paused after quoting a request made by a coworker. A younger sister was in the room with us, seemingly engrossed playing with a stuffy in her lap. She took the pause to mean it was her turn to help end the story. So she did with this:

"And you were like, 'no!'" 

The tone and inflection was spot on with an 80s Valley Girl. Where'd she pick that up? 

Instant Attitude Adjustment--oof!

Spring break is over and it's time to get back to life (I still can't say that without singing Into the Woods). I know that first day back is always challenging. I know this. It is. Knowing doesn't make it easier, but it helps to know why things are hard. It's just the law.

And boy, we followed the law! Second day back wasn't any better. I knew that the next step is my own attitude. I get ugly in my heart after repeated poor treatment. Like I deserve better. It's gross and difficult for me to manage. So, there I was at dinner after two super hard days with the girls, wrestling and forcing myself to be pleasant.

Then it happened. The humbling gut-punch. My girl gushed her multiple thank-yous for a basic dinner of meatloaf and baked potatoes with corn (I was done being sad that we were out of broccoli). Another was pretending to be on a baking show and kept calling the meatloaf meat cake. Other girl was happily smashing everything on her plate and being sure that each person had napkin, utensils, and drinks--repeatedly.

Then a girl said, "I feel like crying because I am so happy to eat this. When we were with (first father), we didn't eat this kind of food. We sometimes had peanut butter sandwiches or nothing. Thank you, Mommy, for making this. Thank you! It is so delicious!"

If I were reading this, I would assume the writer was paraphrasing and exaggerating. Let me tell you, I am toning it down.

My DRA (dirty rotten attitude, doncha know) evaporated, leaving behind humble gratitude tinged with some shame. This life is so much bigger than me and my fragile ego.

You Can Say No, But...

When you go through the foster licensing process, there is a special form you have to fill in. It is just a long, long, long checklist of diagnoses and descriptions. You have to say yes or no to each on that list.  My husband and I have filled it in three separate times. 

It is a little like a game. We sit staring at one another as the social worker reads each item on the list. The game is trying to answer the same as your partner.  Not really, our rule is that if one says no, then the answer is no, but still. 

It isn't actually a game, but trying to be playful takes the ick off the process. It feels so wrong rejecting unknown kids based on the things that oughtn't define them. At the same time, it is an important step in the process. First, it compels careful consideration (Accidental alliteration! score!) by the prospective family. You have to talk about what you're willing and able to do. 

When we lived in a teeny apartment, a wheelchair was not an option, so we needed to say no. My husband and I have taken ASL classes and love the language, so we said yes to children who were deaf or hard of hearing. We had two aging dogs, so cruelty to animals was a no-go for us. ADHD and dyslexia are in the water we drink, so those were easy yeses for us, too. If you don't think you can do it, you should say no, because these kids coming from hard places need to be welcomed.

So, you do the icky list. It's rough, but get through it and take it seriously (while you're having fun) and say your no. It matters...until it doesn't.

Yep, that's the catch. Just like with biological kids, there is a lot out of our control with foster and adopted kids. Life happens. And people living in dinky apartments sometimes end up needing to use wheelchairs.

We made our list this time around, too. There are things we said no to that are now part of our lives. The difference is that we aren't talking about abstract experiences or diagnoses. They are our little girls and there is no backing out now--and we wouldn't dream of it.

The Ultimate Girl Brother

I spent some time with my adult kids. I was shifting toys, clothes, and bedding between rooms, and the place was a mess.  I asked my kids to help me find a top sheet and described it as sparkly. My son said sparkly in a weird baby voice. Then they looked at each other and knowingly chuckled. Ok, I clearly missed something.

They explained that they were quoting a Barbie sidekick. But--plot twist! They didn't name the same sidekick or same movie. They stared at one another in consternation. And then I sat back for the best show ever. I can't actually replicate it because I am just a mom of four girls.

My 25-year-old son proceeded to school my 23-year-old daughter on the polar bear and other cutie sidekick from some Barbie and Mariposa. He gave detail after detail until light dawned on my daughter's face. Ah, yes! Of course! The cutie little thing is the one who said sparkly in a weird baby voice!

If there is another scenario that better exemplifies the ultimate girl brother, I don't know what it is. Although, seeing as how he IS the ultimate girl brother, these scenes happen on the regular.

Guest Blogger

When I started blogging again, I asked the girls' permission to share about this life of ours. They were all on board. The oldest gave me a few forbidden topics with her blessing.

I was chatting with a friend on Marco Polo about topics I would like to cover on this blog. My girl was listening. She asked if I had convinced anyone to adopt. Actually, she asked if my blog is helping 'adoption people' know what might happen. She has ambition for this little project.

I said I think the readers are the people who love us already. She was aghast!

"That's bad. We want to be good. I feel like your blog will make everybody feel safe adopting and adopt children who need adoption and help the world be a better place."

I wasn't sure what to say. She smiled and continued.

"I have a sentence. Obey God and everything will nice." Blog that!

My sweet girl.

"Everyone's Always Asking Me..."

I spend too much time on Facebook.  I can get sucked into watching reels for an embarrassing amount of time. Something I notice is that many say something along the lines of, "So, in answer to your question..." or "Everyone has been asking about this..." Then they demonstrate a skill or share details about their lives.

I have to laugh when I hear it.  They live different lives; no one asks ME anything like that! I am asked if we can have second breakfast. I am asked to come see poop more times than should be permissible. I often field requests from my gaggle of extroverts to go somewhere or see people. Or if we HAVE to clean up. I am also asked if someone can stop brushing her teeth even though all she has done is suck the toothpaste off of the toothbrush. My question is what's for dinner. Please pick up the heavy dose of sarcasm there.

But questions on which I might expound as an expert? Crickets!

Dual Lives: Trauma and Handwriting

Raising kids from hard places is complicated.  Raising kids is complicated. It is more than a 24/7 job. Somehow, we manage to fit more than the allotted time because there is just so much to do, so much to worry about, so much to pray about.

The thing that makes raising kids who have been exposed to trauma different is that the two don't--or shouldn't--go together. Kids are kids. They are wiggly, curious, excited, inexperienced, naive, naughty little sponges. Trauma is traumatic. It breaks and twists. It changes brains and scars personalities. It brings out fearfulness. It brings intimate knowledge of hard things, things no one needs to know. It causes people to exist in the flight/fight realm even when everything should be calm and safe.

Again, the two oughtn't go together. Kids and trauma shouldn't mix. But they do, and all too often.

Raising kids exposed to trauma means embracing the whole unwieldy mess. It means teaching kids about hygiene, handwriting, and how to greet people, but being ready to stop the world when a memory unravels them. 

When it is possible, you have to keep going with normal life. And normal life is engrossing. Brush your teeth already! Please make your lips touch when you have food in your mouth. Julius Caesar had gained popularity with the general public by winning distant wars. But the Roman governing officials didn't want a king. You may play with that after you clean up the toys you were playing with. Suddenly normal life is set aside because something is wrong. What?

It's even more complex when the memories are so buried that the child can't articulate what they are responding to. Triggers are everywhere and every-day life can feel like a mine field. When a sound, a temperature, a texture, a taste, a gas station, an atmosphere, or a smell can remind a child's body of a time when they felt threatened or unsafe, the child doesn't always understand what is happening. They fight to figure things out, when everyone around that continues to act normally, like the world isn't on fire. It is confusing and scary. And their behavior can also become confusing and scary.

As parents, we become detectives. But we must move delicately, like studying a most rare and fragile flower, or navigating a snakes'-den of wires on a bomb. Or both. 

To do it well, you have to walk the tight-rope. You need to press on with normal life, ever vigilant for triggers.  You need to continually strengthen attachment, so that when things get hard, they trust you to see them through. They can't do it alone. And neither can you.