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.

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.

March: 2024

Last year, in March 2024, the chaos of fostering was replaced by the chaos of adopted life. My husband picked up a part-time job working on the weekends.  He had to stop attending church. We were on our fifth! I really liked this one, and hoped we would belong for reals soon. My personal prayer life and Bible study were steady.  Perhaps the only steady thing. I knew God was faithful. I knew God wasn't surprised or overwhelmed. I knew He saw, He cared, He supplied.

We had one daughter in a slightly better daycare. I have NEVER had a child in daycare; it was a cocktail of ego-bruising and learning-curve that I did not enjoy.  I have been the daycare provider countless times. Now I was the working mom, exhausted and spread too thin.  What did I care if it was crazy socks day? I was trying to survive.

We had one daughter with me, enrolled in my AM Kindergarten class and my PM PreK class.  It was wonderful spending the whole day with her. She learned how to read, about Jesus, how to play with other kids, and gained some emotional intelligence. We had her in therapy and got some clear diagnoses for a few special needs. Her growth and development that school year was astonishing.

Our middlest child was attending second grade at the public school down the street. Thank God for her first- and second-grade teachers! Both invested in her, rooted for her, and did their best to provide a safe place for her. I also have NEVER had a child in public school. Another blow to my pride and confrontation with inadequacy.  

Our adult daughter was settling into a new job as a vet tech after returning from Sierra Leone on a teaching trip with my mom. It was a lot, but she has enough stubborn in her that when things get hard, she fights. Our son hit a roadblock in December and was recovering from a mental health crisis.  When the kids hit 18, you are not finished parenting. It gets more nuanced. You're backburnered when things are good. When things get rough, you can only persuade and pray your butt off.

God bless all the working moms. It is so much to juggle. And what on earth are you supposed to do when someone gets sick, huh? The life feels impossible.  But, as I mentioned, I had the Best Job Ever, so my boss and coworkers helped me way beyond the call of duty.  

In March, I was still recovering from a concussion I received one morning when the back hatch of our car fell on my head.  I still struggled with fatigue and word salad.  Life was good, but also really, really hard. 

There was always at least one girl going through something that required all of our attention. I felt continually inadequate like I was drowning.  And ungrateful, because I knew my life was good. I was complaining about my blessings.  But my blessings were smothering me.

What a March!

March: 2023

So, in March '22, we were living the dream. We were doing whatever we wanted to. I was looking for a different job, and trying to find a way to fit in at church, but life was easy--except for the unending illnesses we kept contracting from sick preschoolers. In the eight months I worked there, I had Covid twice, Bronchitis three times, flu, colds, pink eye... It would have been laughable had laughing not triggered breathless coughing fits.

If we fast forward to March '23, the list of changes in our lives was long! My daughter moved into her first apartment, oof! I earned a Master of Science degree in Learning Experience Design and Educational Technology. I got a new job (called The Best Job in The World--outside raising kids) working at a preschool a mile from my home as a 3s teacher two mornings a week, a 4s Assistant one morning a week, and a PreK teacher every afternoon. 

I need to pause to say how serious I am about it being the Best Job Ever. That PreK class was phenomenal! My boss was the most supportive and encouraging boss I'd ever had. And my coworkers? I've never met an entire crew of people so wholly dedicated to loving and teaching children. The board (fewer accolades there, tbh) had just approved opening a Kindergarten class for the following year, so my boss and I were dreaming and brainstorming curriculum, advertising, and schedules. So fun!

Oh, and I need to add another little change to the list of happenings from '22 to '23. We got licensed for foster care and were adjusting to doubling our household with three—THREE—little girls! What?!? How did that happen? We were done. Foster care had shredded our hearts. We were in retirement and nearly empty nesters. We were going to travel. I got a cool degree that I could use to do anything. We were dancing.

Well, I will tell you. Roe v Wade was overturned. The church we were attending had a guest speaker who said there was a difference between being pro-birth and pro-life. Being pro-birth was not enough.  To be pro-life, we needed to meet people as they were living through difficult times, "from womb to tomb." 

There could possibly be an uptick in unwanted babies born. It is an awful thing to be unwanted. My husband was deeply moved and announced that afternoon that if God allowed it, we were going to adopt so we could be a home where kids would know they were wanted. Wow! 

So here we were in March, planning a massive uptick in my commitment to work while fostering three little girls we desperately wanted to adopt. In March, we had gotten word that perhaps they would go back to their first parents. I was an emotional wreck. We never intended to actually foster again.  We wanted only adoptable kids. The girls themselves had heavy burdens of trauma, delays, and needs. Caring for one was more than a full-time job. Three? Fugedaboutit.

What a March!

March: 2021

I hope you're enjoying this walk through the years. I hope it is sparking your own memories, bringing smiles and healing. 2020 was difficult for most of us, bringing--brace yourself for that most overused word--unprecedented changes to how we did life.

By March 2021, we were finding--here's another oft-used buzzword--a new normal. I'd made over 250 videos reading books to the refugees. I was going into the homes of several Afghan families to bring books, playdough, and companionship. One family in particular had five boys who were struggling with the lockdown, so my son and I partnered to tutor them three times a week.

The church had started meeting on a smaller scale; I was coordinating 50 volunteers for only two services. I had a very unique opportunity to start a children's ministry at a well-established mega-church. It was fun training and establishing community, balancing safety and the need for community.

My husband was looking at retirement and the four of us were researching other states to find our next home. There was no way we could afford to stay in California. We were in a small window where we were going to be able to move with our adult children to start the next chapter.

And then, on March 3--my late sister's birthday--I was changing the bulletin boards late one night while my kids were attending the college Bible study. And we got a call. I'd honestly thought our foster license had lapsed. We'd been through the wringer with the agency and returned to the county. But we never got a placement. And now, two-year-old twins who needed a home tonight.

Or maybe they were 18-month-olds? No, they were three. Whatever, after praying together, we said yes. I grabbed my kids and we ran to Wal-Mart on the way home to buy two car seats and a crib. They wouldn't fit in the car with the door closed, so my kids had a harrowing ride home, holding unwieldy boxes and the back hatch.

We threw that crib together, racing the clock before the girls showed up. My daughter and I met them in the parking lot. When we heard their spunky names, we were suddenly unsure of even their gender. 

But girls they were, and after a few days we learned that they were 14-month-olds. Born in late 2019, with four older siblings schooling at home on Zoom, they spent much of their life at home in a pack-and-play, so their development was a little delayed.

And that was our March. Learning how to parent twin toddlers who we jokingly called ricochet for all the bouncing their heads did off our walls as they learned how to talk. Biological family visits, illnesses, doctor and therapist appointments, and court dates. It all came back.

Our daughter moved in with close friends because of the legality of the twins sharing a room with an adult. I continued working at the church. And we continued our work with the refugees.

What a March!

Doctors, Specialists, and Therapists, Oh my!

I'm processing a lot since our girls' last doctor visit.  We have been on waiting lists for various therapies for the entire two years that they've been living with us.  That is a long time.  However, the number of people trained in the treatments recommended for our girls does not match the number of people needing the therapy. And there is an apparent baby boom among these golden ticket therapists, so it seems there are more on maternity leave than there are taking patients.  It's a frustrating situation.

But I am a card-carrying homeschool mom, so I read books, watch videos, and do my best to meet their needs.  I've done this before when my son needed speech therapy, and I got tired of sitting behind a mirror at a university speech therapy program 100 miles (no lie) from home three days a week just to watch people not understand him.  So, I decided to do it at home. The first time that boy said "k," I could have flown!

Later, I discovered my first daughter has the most severe dyslexia of all the dyslexias.  This goes with her over-achieving, competitive personality; if she's going to be dyslexic, then she's going to out-dyslexic all the dyslexics! All the therapies available were through the public school system in our area and I was invested in staying out of that dysfunctional rabbit hole. So, I decided to do it at home.

We participated in therapies for our first foster children and the experiences were overwhelmingly positive.  I learned a lot. Since then, I got my degree in education, with dual emphases in Gen Ed and SPED. The various diagnoses and possible diagnoses of our girls don't scare me very often (mostly).  I feel like I can tackle them with some competency.

Put that on the shelf for a moment with me while I discuss a deeper thing that I don't like talking about.  I have said before that our interactions with therapists and medical personnel for all our foster placements and adopted girls have been positive. But my experiences with doctors for myself and my children have been wildly different. Ask me how long it took to be diagnosed with POTS, and how I was treated until I was. I had an eye doctor throw a pen across the room and storm out because he conducted the entire exam not knowing my contacts were in.  There was the dentist who rested his tools on my chest and grabbed 'widely' to pick them up.  I can't forget the gynecologist who argued with me to get an IUD while he biopsied my uterus.  When I wouldn't give in, he tore off his gloves and dropped them on the floor before walking out.  He left me bleeding on those gloves, shaking.  Whenever my friends went for their visits, he told them that they should tell me to come back to get the IUD, hipaa be damnned. Thankfully the experiences with my kids' doctors tended toward mere incompetence and arrogance.

My point is that I'm scared. So scared that I didn't even recognize it. The girls' current primary said she would try to push some referrals to get therapy going.  I'm grateful.  Relieved.  I need help.  They need help.  It's a good thing.  

But I was cooking dinner that night and making mistakes that would make my poor grandma roll in her grave.  My dinner roll dough took my KitchenAid for a walk across the length of my counter.  I burned my fingers as I tried to get the meat from the drumsticks I cooked.  The entire room looked like I violently decorated it with a 20-pound bag of flour.  I got overheated, so layers of clothes littered the floor because I'd ripped them off and dropped them where I stood.  And then I cried.  And cried.  

My sweet husband came to my rescue, asking me what was wrong.  I asked if we could just pretend that I was on my period because whatever was going on was just as reasonable as that.  He stifled his laughter as he watched me tear at drumsticks and cry that it looked like meat stuck in a dinosaur's maw and that I didn't want to eat dinosaur food.

It took the next 24 hours for me to realize that I'm scared of getting entangled with therapists who'll make my girls' lives harder.  I'm scared that helping in one area could exacerbate dysfunction in others. I worry about getting entrenched and not knowing how to get out.

I have no pat answers yet. It astonishes me that God works on me while I am trying to raise these girls well.  I didn't think this was something I needed to address.  It just is: I don't trust doctors, but I do what I need to for my kids. But maybe changes are coming?

Trauma Triggers

Sometimes I believe my own hurts are well in my past, and that I have captured all the thoughts and submitted them all to the Lord.  I think the triggers have no power, because I see how the Lord has redeemed the terrible things (or trust that He will), and I am healed from the base-brain trauma responses that used to cripple me.  The PTSD is gone.

I believe all this with a measure of realism. I don't think that I am Mighty Mouse or anything. I know I am not invincible.  I know it is the Holy Spirit doing the work.  I know bad or hard things can (will) still happen in the future.  I even know that when a memory emerges, I will have feelings about it.  But I have tools and support and know what to do.  I won't drown. 

And then...

I watch one of my girls behave out of the box and I realize all the hurt they carry each day without words to explain.  I ache for them.  I feel protective. Someone hurt my baby.  I feel angry. I feel the loss that I wasn't there to protect her, to prevent it. I hate that I may never know exactly what happened.  All these things feel normal and right. It is reasonable to respond with these thoughts and feelings when someone we love is hurting.

But there is something more.  Something I can't quite put my finger on, and it's shaking me. It is blessedly unfamiliar enough that I can't understand why I feel like I just need to sit down, put something down that I didn't know I was carrying, or loosen my clothes so I can take a full breath. With a frustratingly slow dawning, I realize what it is. My own trauma. Once it clicks, the memories come so quickly that the chronology is a mess.

I need to be healed AGAIN.  I need to be restored AGAIN.  I need to get my feet firmly planted on the Rock Who never moves AGAIN. I know I will. I know He will. It will be ok.

And I thank God for it all. I don't love the ride, but I hear the whisper of the still, small Voice telling me that He is bigger, stronger, and ready for it all.  He is not surprised.  Not by the wave of memories and feelings, nor by the ugliness of what happened. Being reminded so viscerally of the trauma gives me the opportunity to feel just as concretely the goodness of Jesus. And THAT gives me the focus and assurance to look my girls in their big, beautiful eyes and tell them firmly that it will be ok.

Going to the Doctor

 We made it through three well-child visits! As a side note, when the office called to make the appointments, I misunderstood her and thought she wanted to set up wild-child visits. I thought it was a great term and told her so, asking how she knew how appropriate it was. It is NOT what she said. 

Some of our past visits were fiasco-adjacent. I hoped to establish a solidly positive session to create a frame of reference for what a doctor visit COULD be. We talked about expectations, did some role-playing, and equipped them with the times they could ask to hold a hand, sit on a lap, or say no.

And we did it! My girls are watching Dora as I type this and I want to exclaim, "Lo hicimos!" We left the building with three smiling little girls and two gushing-with-praise parents!

We need to make vision appointments, because it is time, but also as a first step to investigating headaches in one girl. There is a good possibility that they will all need glasses, so we'll need to keep monitoring that.

One girl had a rough visit with an insensitive tech a while back, so she was very nervous.  On another side note, the medical staff we have encountered since getting the girls have all been wonderful.  Most are good at speaking in code above the girls' heads to discuss possibly scary or triggering topics.  All are positive and supportive of adoptions. And they are really terrific with the girls.

Anyhow, the one wonky tech left my girl feeling really scared about going, but after all the prep and the amazing primary we see, she did really well.  Our daughter allowed for the exam and test, so...triumph! 

We have a referral to OT.  We have confirmations on other diagnoses and support for our chosen treatments. And we have a plan for behavior that can't be diagnosed yet. Everyone was on board with avoiding shots to keep things positive, so... triumph again!

We have one little miss who has struggled massively with past visits who did very well and said no when she needed to to certain procedures. But she is triggered, so we will spend hours snuggling, affirming, and watching to see her through whatever is going on in her mind and body that she can't articulate yet.

I have to make myself not cry whenever I go to the doctor with them.  It is overwhelming for me.  I love them. Even with a wildly successful visit as this, the tears threaten. I am proud of their bravery and growth. I grieve the gaps in my knowledge. I grieve the brokenness still evident.  And I am hopeful and thankful that we can do this with the help of a team.

I trust God is never surprised by any of this and is always present.  I go through this life ignorant of so much. But I know a God who knows.  He is enough.  I'm thankful that even though I am failing and stumbling, God is bigger than it all--including my flaws and stubbornness.

Homeschooling Schedule

I have the privilege of being a new homeschooler and veteran homeschooler at the same time.  I started homeschooling a few weeks after my second baby was born so that my 2.5-year-old would have dedicated time with me.  We kept going until that baby graduated high school.  Through those years we moved twice, changed churches a few times, and lived several different lifestyles.  I founded and ran a homeschooling group with friends.  We did tours and playdates.  I wrote entire programs for us to carry out in co-op-style classes.  I also counseled new homeschoolers, getting them set up to school their kids successfully from home. Throughout all that, we had different children in our home because I was either homeschooling or nannying them.  

I've got some experience! But, true to the assertion that there are as many ways to homeschool as there are families, this is new and different.  Schooling three kids specifically NOT from the beginning with more special needs than my first crew and in relative isolation is different. So, true to form, I am learning as I go.

I recently changed our homeschooling schedule because I was really overtaxing all of us by trying to do a little bit of everything each day.  I thought the consistency and small bites would provide routine so that growth would be steady and the predictability would give the kids a sense of safety and ownership of their days.  It's a good thought worth its place, but it was time to wriggle things around.

So now I have staggered days. On Mondays and Wednesdays, we do core work using Sonlight curriculum. That is Bible, Social Studies/History, Literature, and Science.  I use the four-day schedule, so we double up and still complete a week's worth of work in a week.  On Tuesdays and Thursdays, we do extracurricular activities like Spanish, Piano, and Recorder.  Fridays are special because my husband is home every other week, so we go on outings with him.  When he is at work, we do arts, cooking, and messy science projects.  Each day we do Movement, Reading, Writing, and Math.  We also do a preschool-style circle time each day with things like prayer, calendar, weather, and Bible verses and stories.

So far, it's working out pretty well.  I might flip-flop the pairs of days because I chose hefty work on the days we are committed to Choir and AWANA.  But I'm going to wait.  Because the change is about looking at the week as a whole, I'm giving myself a solid month to adjust.

Our daily routine still exists regarding blocks of time.  I am eager to see how the opened space allows for more connection and breathing room.  

Wednesdays and "Blended" Families

I changed up my homeschooling schedule to find a routine that is less taxing on all of us.  Today is Wednesday, and that means a Sonlight day in the morning and AWANA at night.  Also, my adult daughter comes for dinner on Wednesdays, which shoots Wednesdays as one of our favorites of the week. 

We often have a more substantial meal (read: I actually plan and execute one). The girls go to AWANA and either my grown kids head downstairs to hang out together, or they join my husband and me for some visiting time.  After the girls get home and go to bed, we might watch a movie or play a game.

Blending families is something our culture is practicing these days to do well for the sake of the kids. That phrase usually refers to families on a second (or more) marriage.  Ours feels like a blended family for different reasons, but we still make a special effort to honor the myriad relationships in this group of seven. One of those ways is to have some four-adult time after the girls go to sleep.

Before the girls joined us, we were a tight family with a unique personality.  It is this quality that I thought made us a good candidate to welcome littles into our family.  I think it is imperative to preserve something of that quality so that we still have that special thing to offer the girls.  

Of course, just as important, we have to shift and adjust to being a unified family of seven, where each person contributes their own tweaks and quirks to become a blended... beast? that represents all of us.

Anyhow, these Wednesday nights are a blessing for us to be four.  My kids giggle and jab at each other.  We watch shows that aren't wholly appropriate for kids. We allow for our relationships to evolve--since our kids aren't kids any more. We remember. We share. We plan. We be. 

To Intervene or Not to Intervene—The Daily Parenting Question

What do you do when you hear the kids ramping up for either a good old-fashioned fight or a too-much-fun hullabaloo?  The former usually ends with broken things and angry kids.  The latter usually ends with broken kids and angry parents. 

I have a few standard responses.  I holler from the bottom of the stairs, or I might march to the playroom and ask, “What’s going on?” If I’m yelling from the other room, I get the same volume answer: “Nothing!” If I’m in the same room, I am blessed with wide-eyed innocent faces coupled with the same answer.

Another common response I give is cautionary or corrective words. “Be sweet!” “Calm down, please!” To this, the kids might yell that they are being sweet or calming with zero discernable change in behavior. Or they may take the opportunity to highlight someone else’s misbehavior.

We still end up with something getting broken and someone getting angry. Well, I have discovered a new tactic that is—so far—working like magic. Are you ready for my brilliance?

Now when I hear muffled or maniacal laughter or an escalating argument I say, with a smile in my voice, “Do you need my help?” Oh, folks!  This is a game-changer in my house!

First, this builds our golden goal of attachment because my offer is a desirable thing; I am coming to help rather than correct or scold.  It’s good for all of us to remember that.

Second, the girls can conduct a self-assessment and decide if an adult is needed. This pause in their activity seems to be enough to regulate their bodies.

Third, I think there is a surprise psychological component to this tactic. I imagine sets of eyes meeting across the room, and the prisoner’s dilemma comes to life. I’m approximately half-joking about that.

The girls have asked for help and have declined my offer with this tactic, and both ways qualify as a win.  When I go to help, we are all unified in seeking a solution rather than blaming or feeling shame.  If I don’t help, I hear the narration of them working out the issue and I am so proud of them gaining negotiating and peace-making skills.

How do you de-escalate kids getting too rowdy? How successful is it?

Attachment Injury--the Dos and Don'ts

I talked about the power of yes earlier.  It is crucial to kids’ development to receive innumerable yeses.  While meeting that need, we must monitor exactly who gives out those yeses.  Getting a yes from anyone and everyone doesn’t serve the kids well. On the contrary, it actually causes harm.

We are fearfully and wonderfully complicated creatures, praise be to God!  As such, no part of us functions in isolation—and there are many parts to us.  Kids need those yeses to develop cognitively, emotionally, and socially.  However, forming strong, healthy attachments is just as imperative. 

Kids from hard places often sustain significant and multiple attachment injuries.  Some are injured to the extent that they stop seeing people and relationships as valuable (because they are unreliable).  Instead, they see people as tools to get what they need—or want, but that’s another post for another day. 

It is easy to see how this happens. Kids go to school and daycare where every adult is there to respond to the kids’ needs.  Both places—daycares to a greater degree—have a high turnover rate.  The kids are trained to listen to and receive help from any adult.  Add social workers to the mix and consider how we tell foster kids to get into a car with the new social worker (a stranger) who will take them to see their parents.  I remember with every foster placement we had losing count of the social workers. How wacky is that?! 

In addition, kids from hard places don’t often attend family functions where the parents are the sole caregivers in a sea of ‘other’ adults.  Think about birthday parties, libraries, children's museums, and places of worship. Because of this, foster kids can lose the ability to distinguish the significance between adults.  When they don’t have a steadfast set of adults who are only there for them, there’s no wonder.

Autumn starts with too many Halloween events where kids literally wander around taking candy from strangers. Next, there are a plethora of Santa visits where kids are told to sit on the laps of men they do not know and tell them their deepest wishes.  Foster kids are often enrolled in extra programs like WIC, therapies, services, and medical screenings.  That means more strangers are asking personal questions and conducting exams (with the requisite piece of candy at the end of every meeting).

This doesn’t even touch on family/home life, where strangers are primary caregivers.  Strangers doing baths and bedtime routines.  Strangers doing breakfast. Strangers, with their different smells, different voices, different food…  Strangers meeting the need for comfort and affection—or not. And who knows how long this place will be?

It makes perfect sense that over time a kid would think that all adults are there to serve them.  Understandably, kids from hard places have a weird sense of entitlement.  It also follows that they wouldn’t dare attach to any particular adult, but still be happy to get a much-needed hug and gift from one, without bothering to learn that adult’s name or caring if they meet again.

This is when kids learn to use affection as a commodity and develop masterful manipulation skills.  These behaviors are cultivated to survive but can become ingrained and intensely difficult to undo even when they find a safe and stable environment.

To protect children from a diagnosis like RAD (Reactive Attachment Disorder), we must help them know who their adults are.  And it is important for other adults to consistently direct the kids to their primary adults for all their needs.  This is tough.  The kids are sweet and huggable. Their stories inspire compassion. Their reactions to even little gifts are phenomenal; who wouldn’t want that hit of dopamine?  But true love does what is best for the other, and what is best for kids from hard places is to heal from attachment injuries.  And that is done by letting them know they have special adults who belong to them above everyone else. 

What does this look like day-to-day? You don’t have to push them away or do anything that feels like rejection.  Gentle redirection with open body language builds appropriate connections without undermining the attachments growing in the new family.

Ø  Showing joy with smiles and high-fives when you see kids from hard places. 

Ø  Limiting tangible gifts.  This helps them see you as a person with value in your presence, rather than what you bring.

Ø  Sitting a child next to you rather than on your lap.

Ø  Affirming a need and stating that their adult would be happy to meet it.  “Wow! You drank all your water. Nicely done. I know Mommy would love to get you more if you're still thirsty.”

Ø  Consistently and visibly acknowledging parents as authority.  “You want to go outside? What does Daddy say about that?”

Ø  The best thing to do is check in with parents privately for guidance.

I wish I had known this before. When I loved other people’s foster and adopted kids, I didn’t know.  I learned the most by watching an informed friend relate to my daughters with astounding love and astonishing wisdom.  I hadn’t even noticed what she was doing until she mentioned it when she checked in with me.  She had never given them food or drink, never helped with a shoe or jacket!  She managed to use exceeding grace in directing them my way for everything. These subtle nudges underscored for my kids appropriate ways to relate to us as parents and to other trusted-but-secondary adults in their lives. 

Sensory Processing Disorder

Sensory Processing Disorder is a newer condition to me.  Some terms used to describe people with this disorder—or are adjacent to it—are sensory seeking or sensory avoiding.  Just to keep things interesting, it is important to remember that an individual can both seek and avoid sensory input. Another thing I find true about any of these diagnoses is that almost everyone can relate to the feelings and situations described.  A diagnosis is appropriate when professionals conduct lengthy interviews and tests to perceive symptoms that are consistent and persistent and play a dominating role in a person’s work and school life.

We have one child who has been assessed by a professional who determined that SPD is quite strong in her.  We have two others who have not been assessed, but who behave in ways that lead us to suspect they would also be diagnosed.  They all have strong compulsions to touch anything and everything, even if there is a negative consequence (like being burned). They also have aversions to sensory input.  My kids specifically repel from noises that do not typically bother others. Certain types of clothes are a no-go because they are too uncomfortable.

We have a variety of toys, tools, and routines to help our kids function at their best.  First, we flat-out avoid situations that could get loud.  It is just not worth overstimulating them or causing them pain. We also talk about expectations and engage in role-playing before we have an event where sensory seeking (like touching everything) is not appropriate. 

We have an entire box of fidgets to pacify touchy hands.  Our Occupational Therapist suggested heavy work and different ways of moving to satisfy some of those compulsive needs.  So, when we see a kid starting to buzz, we have them carry random heavy things from here to there and back again as a game. It usually ends when she can no longer stand because she is laughing so hard. We tell them to move like bears or crabs on their way to wash their hands. It is a fun way to get chores done and helps them focus because of the work required to complete it. 

We have TheraBands to work muscles and give safe ways to exert themselves. We also have sensory brushes, weighted blankets, and a light machine. I would love to get one of those stretchy swings in the house, but I don’t know how to pull that off.  For now, we have a circular swing hanging off a tree branch that they can sit or stand on. 

And finally, there is the glorious play bath. The sensory play that can happen in a bath is varied and open-ended.  As long as they follow basic parameters, they are free to explore and discover on their own.  It’s marvelous, especially finishing with lotion, songs, quiet talk, and hair brushing.

I find that even our kids who don’t have SPD behaviors benefit from a lot of these practices.  We all get overstimulated, after all.  Have you tried any of these things to calm yourself or a child?  Anything I failed to mention?

Attachment

We were on a waiting list for attachment therapy and it would seem that every local qualified therapist left to have a baby last year.  In desperation, I started reading in every spare moment anything I could find on trauma, attachment, and home therapy solutions.  I discovered (like 80% through a massive tome on attachment) that attachment and play therapies are what we do most naturally with our kids!  Why was it so hard for me to find?!  I invoked the homeschooling motto “Well, I can do that!” and got on with it.

Here's my disclaimer: I am not a therapist and have little academic training in therapy.  My experience with professional therapists in caring for my foster and adopted kids has all been positive. They know more than I do, but they are difficult to access, and I need to serve my kids today.

Attachment therapy, as I understand it, is engaging with someone using the five senses either focusing on one sense at a time or combining them. The point is to attach one to another in as literal a sense as possible to build trust and lasting emotional attachment. 

So for sight, we sustain eye contact during songs, games, and snuggles. We play the staring game. We stop what we are doing to look at each other when we speak, especially when we praise each other.

We surround ourselves with ‘positive’ smells using essential oils, yummy food, and soothing lotions. Baking cookies or popping popcorn have us all breathing deeply!

We share new or favorite foods and talk about them in detail; if I can actually feed them, all the better. Universal Yums sends a box of snacks from a different country each month.  We share the box with family friends, and it has become something we get so excited about.

We listen to music and our surroundings on a walk. And we love to sing! This school year we have been working on harmonies and rounds, which require active listening. The girls also do well listening to read-aloud stories.

We tickle backs, caress hair, wrestle with safety parameters, swing, and give tight squeezes for touch activities that grow attachment.

Generally, I try to have at least four sessions with each girl every day.  The time is frequently shared, and other times I work one-on-one. “This Little Piggy,” butterfly kisses, mirroring, and echoing games are regulars. I kiss without the smack because it’s hilarious to my girls. We get eye-to-eye until one of us giggles. And we don’t waste bath and hair time.  They have become sacred as we sing songs dedicated to each girl, pick out colored barrettes, and massage in sweet lotion.

How have you been attaching to your people?