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.

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.

I Did Something Right

I had a rough day coming off a hard week. I screwed up multiple times. I missed good teaching opportunities. I was impatient. I missed out on connection. I resorted to lazy parenting with the most basic strategies of bribes and lame threats.

But I did some things right. I made a healthy-ish lunch and had a plan for dinner.  I finished the week of school.  I made doctor and vision appointments.  I kept trying.

And I did one thing really well.  We were at the doctor for one girl, who was scared, with the two others, who were slightly giddy that we weren't there for them. The two were wiggly and chatty, suddenly happy to get the doctor's attention.  The other had all four limbs wrapped around my body and would only speak by whispering in my ear.

I was able to successfully activate the two sisters' compassion and redirect their behavior to reflect how they would want to be treated. Win!

The one being seen said she was scared. Great words! Let's talk about the worst thing that could happen. What's the big scary thing? She said she just wanted to be happy to hear that the test results were negative. Well, of course! It would be easy to be happy about that.  But that is not the only way we can be happy. We can choose our happy, even when we have to hunt a little bit. How could we be happy if the test is positive? She managed with minimal help to come up with five things! Victory!

The day was a mixed bag. But in order to get out of bed the next day, we need to take the wins and celebrate them.  We need evidence that we can do this well. So, we learn from the mistakes and dump 'em. And we celebrate the victories for what they are. Yay!

Pivot!

We bought the girls bunk beds with a trundle! So exciting! Our littlest broke her crib months ago and her mattress has been on the floor since then.  Not ideal. In fact, it's not allowed if we were still licensed to foster.

We finally resolved it by purchasing a bed.  My husband and I had fun--well, I did, anyway--moving the beds between two rooms to see if we could get all three into one space to open up the other room for play. The obvious solution? Bunks!

Off we went in search of the perfect space-saving sleepers. And we found one with a trundle, no less. Marvelous! Everyone was so excited!

But reality. Predictably unpredictable, the girls were triggered. It took about 24 hours for one to come talk with us. Another hasn't said anything, but she is acting oddly enough that even this dope-of-a-mom figured out she has things going on, too.

Well, poop. Time to pivot. 

I let the girls know that we will keep all the new beds separate and where their old beds were--no designated playroom or group sleeps--for now.  OH! They were all so sad. I worked to explain that Daddy and I wanted this as badly as they did. But the Bible teaches us that we make our plans, and the Lord directs our steps. It is so important to move forward with our plans in a way that we are interruptible and redirectable. 

This is the life. It is true for everyone, really. But it is pronounced when raising children exposed to trauma. We can and should plan. But, as a precious friend always says, we must hold those plans loosely. It would be foolhardy to press on with a plan God doesn't endorse. He knows so much more and loves so much better than we do. It's ridiculous to not lean on His understanding and welcome His will.

When we do stack the beds, it will be at the right time, and it is going to be a party!

Just Be Easy!

My husband and I were talking about parenting the other day. There are times when we feel so successful, and then there are the other times. 

As we shared different stories where we failed to respond well, we saw a pattern. We took turns sharing stories, and they all seemed to go like this. 

A child misbehaves and we handle it with patience, humor, redirection, and calmness. 

That child misbehaves again--repeating the previous action or inventing a new way to be disruptive, disrespectful, or dangerous. And we handle it calmly, the child recovers, and we move on. 

Then that child is downright mean to a sibling, and we facilitate her making it right. 

After two minutes, the child makes eye contact and directly disobeys, "don't-touch-THIS?" style. We take a deep breath and respond like a pro, employing curiosity and remembering that behavior is communication of a need. We discover and meet that need with gentle questions and innovative solutions. 

Then she either does something she can't help, like burps or trips; OR she goes in for a pound and escalates to 11 with no apparent trigger.  Either way, we lose it and blow it. Inside (and sometimes outside) we wail, OH MY WORD, JUST BE EASY!

We keep on keeping on. I think we are improving--every one of us. But we still fall flat on our faces more often than we want. 

Anniversary

We just celebrated our 28th anniversary!

By the way, if you want good babysitters, I know the trick. First, have a couple of great kids who are terrific with kids. Wait 'til they grow up. Then get more kids and have the first kids babysit the second kids.  It's brilliant! That is my cheeky way of thanking our two adult kids for watching our three growing kids.

We went to a hotel two miles from our home and it was magnificent! We napped! We slept 'til we woke up. We talked about kid things and not-kid things. I decided I will start writing my own homeschool curriculum for the girls! (I'm kind of excited about that one!) We remembered the details of our wedding day and the days just before and after. We played games and watched TV. 'Twas marvelous!

I had a vision ages ago that continues to be true today.  We had just gone through some broken friendships that also broke my heart. Then I saw us as if we were on a boat. We had been knocked around, soaked and battered by ferocious winds. As things died down, we managed to stand and look back. There was a maze of whirlpools, monsters, icebergs, and jagged rocks.  I had thought the danger had been from all the weaving the ship had done.  But it was weaving to avoid all those life-threatening dangers. We were being kept safe!

I am so thankful to my hero, living all the stages of life with me. I think there are things that are so far removed from the two people who made vows that it boggles my mind a bit. Being married for life is not a guarantee for anyone these days, but Brian early on decided we would banish the notion of divorce. I think that saved us.

His commitment to our marriage meant that even when things were hard, I knew I had that stability. I could be weak, wrong, and wrecked. But my husband stood strong.  He could screw up, but I wouldn't give up. Knowing we are in this unconditionally means we know it's worth the work that is necessary for any relationship. Not working on it was self-defeating. So, we work, we pivot, we talk, we apologize, and we forgive.

This stability is the biggest gift to our kids. They can do all the things, big and small, good and bad, but this family will always be here for them. 

Please don't mistake this for bragging. I don't deserve the blessings I enjoy. I tell you about this all with big-eyed wonder. I look back and see the dangers we avoided and shake off the goosebumps. We've made it this far. By God's grace, we will keep going.

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!

March: 2020

Ah, 2020! How you changed the world!

We were no exception. Looking specifically at March is what made me realize that the month of March has been so pivotal for my family. In 2020, both my kids were graduated and I had my degree. I was...retired? I was exploring a new chapter of life and enjoying the crap out of my husband and adult children.

In the fall of 2019, I was invited to head up the childcare portion of a new program our church was participating in. We were offering ESL classes to Afghan refugee women. I felt like I was made for this and was electrified about the whole thing. I love languages and ate up the training on language acquisition, cultural differences, and pre-literate versus illiterate learning. Oh, my goodness! It was all so utterly fascinating to me.

My job was to provide care for the preschool children of these women and lead the group of volunteers doing the same. I had just completed my BA in Educational Studies the previous summer (thank you, WGU!), and we had drunk through the firehose about trauma in our foster training. 

I knew how to design and teach preschool in my sleep. That part was easy and fun. But then I got to tie in all the other things I had been learning. These children were so very special, having been through trauma, not knowing any English, and never being separated from their mommas. All these components meant the need for specific care, and I absolutely loved every moment of it!

Actually, I almost quit because initially, the focus had been ESL for women. My job was to just keep the kids away so the mommas could learn. But these kids had never been away from their moms before. They would cry inconsolably in the arms of strange women who spoke gibberish. Of course! I couldn't stand the idea of furthering their trauma, so I went to the pastor in charge and asked to quit. I might have cried.

And he might have laughed. He said if I was crying for these kids, then I should be the one providing care for them. He helped me coordinate with the ESL teachers so the kids could trust us and come to love the classes we were doing for them. Ah, it was magic.

By March, the kids who would scream endlessly in our arms were now bouncing happily into class to sing, paint, and play. It was so exciting.

That was when I was offered the position in the church leading the birth-Kindergarten children's ministry. Wow! I told them they didn't want to hire me because I wouldn't sign membership papers. They said they would never ask me to do something against my conscience. I said they didn't want to hire me because I was still a licensed foster parent and if we got a placement, that child would be a priority. They said I wasn't their first working mom, and I could bring children to work with me. I said they didn't want to hire me because I have POTS, and the heat makes me faint. Our church held big outdoor events throughout the year, and I struggled when the temps got into the high 80s. They said that we could work around it. Welp, I said yes!

My first week I cut out thousands of little shamrocks in anticipation of St. Patrick's Day. I worked for a mega-church where I would be coordinating over 75 volunteers to teach at three services, so I am not exaggerating about the number of shamrocks. And before those little green beauties could ever be used, the world shut down.  It seemed unbelievable. How could we actually shut down the whole city? It happened...but only for two weeks. We deep-cleaned classrooms, the hamina-hamina-massive resource room, and then all the other little storage rooms nestled all over that colossal building. And we remained shut down.

It was time to pivot. I learned how to teach preschoolers from another language and culture on Zoom. And we started making packages for our church kids. 

What a March!

March: 2019

Continuing our retrospective into Marches past, we zoom from 2018 to 2019. We lost our precious girl to a Native American family thanks to ICWA laws. It was devastating and our family was still in the deep throes of shock and grief. 

To be honest, the four of us still have wounds from losing our little girl that merely gape a little less. We miss her and pray for her daily.

At this point (in 2019), we were licensed with an agency and hoping to be a safe place for kids in need.  We'd given ourselves a month to make zero decisions after our girl left. Then we discussed whether we would continue as a foster family.  We unanimously decided that if kids didn't get to choose to be foster kids, we WOULD choose to meet them there.  We knew it would be hard, but we could trust Jesus to sustain us.

On a more celebratory note, my first daughter graduated high school! In March, I was writing her transcripts, and she was wrapping up final projects to complete her high school education on the fifth of April. Pretty exciting stuff. She did not enjoy school, and her graduation marked an accomplishment that I hope she still loves.  

Our son was in college, and I decided to join him. In March, we were preparing to begin at WGU on the first of April. I was finally going to get my BA! I spent March hunting down transcripts from my lifetime before raising two kids.

What a March!

March: 2018

It's March.  You know that already. But it has become a significant month to me.  It used to be October that big changes happened to us.  We moved, had our daughter, moved another time--and yet another time--all in October.

The other day on my Facebook, my memories from three years ago showed my husband and me on our 25th anniversary Niagara Falls train trip.  I said that the year before we had just welcomed twin girls as foster placements. And, of course, it is my big sister's birth month.

I did a little fact-checking and realized that the last several Marches in recent years have brought substantial changes to our lives. 

Travel back with me to 2018. In March 2018, we had our very first foster placement and completed a whirlwind of training and licensing--you know, since the 2-year-old girl was already living with us.  We had known her since birth, and I'd been providing a good 60 hours per week care since she'd been 5 months old. My oldest friend was her foster mom.

Things went very sideways and we were her new foster family.  By March, it was clear she wouldn't be able to go back to my friend or her biological mom. We very much wanted to be her forever family. Of course, we loved her desperately and considered her one of us. But also, she'd already lost so much, and we didn't want her to lose any more. 

It was a crazy month of court appearances, therapy appointments, park days, and parenting my big kids who were quickly approaching adulthood.  What a March.

First Choir Recital

We put the girls in choir classes in January. My husband has wanted them in choir for a long while because at least one seems to have perfect pitch, and they all love singing. In fact, our music education has been beefed up in many ways this calendar year.  They are also learning theory, piano, and recorder.

The choir we joined seems really special. It is for homeschoolers and there are two age groups. They have generously allowed our nine-year-old to be in both classes.  She gets to sing with her little sisters (which helps them feel comfortable) and be challenged in the older class where the students already know how to read music and sing harmony.

The girls had their first recital this week and they did so very well! I am exceedingly proud of them. That's not to say I wasn't shaking in my boots a bit after the class just before recital! The littlest went bonkers. She wouldn't sing but was happy to growl the lyrics while doing deep, aggressive lunges at the audience. What?! She kept running around, grabbing friends, jumping, rolling on the floor, or starting games of tag... The whole scene was equal parts hilarious and horrifying.

But there was nothing to fear. The girls did marvelously. They sang well, behaved well, and had loads of fun. The choir is an offshoot of a homeschool band. The girls had heard the band playing during choir, but we didn't do much to prepare them to sit through those performance pieces. My girl who struggles with loud noises struggled minimally, thanks to being wrapped in her Daddy's loving arms. But other than that, they were terrific!

Can you hear this proud momma heart? I could brag for days! 

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.

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. 

My Little Dream

 My Little Dream

Did I mention I got a new-to-me van?  It is very exciting—in a thrilling and nail-biting way.  Our insurance went up unexpectedly, and I worry I hurt our family trying to afford a second vehicle.  AND at the same time, I live in a state of relief because I can get us out of the house.  If there is an emergency, I have a van with car seats and I am ready to go.  (If the emergency is that we have been cooped up far too long and we need to get out to avoid carnage, so be it.)

Well, I have been doing a little dreaming with this newfound freedom. I want to travel.  My bigs and husband all have to work, so it is not feasible to get us all vacationing together.

Next year we will have a fourth-grader, which means National Parks are free for the family.  I’ve never been to a National Park, despite growing up in a state with one of the highest numbers of them.  Now we live in a state with zero. 

For my first trip, I want to go west so the girls can meet their new family members.  In subsequent years, I would like to go east to visit beloved friends and perhaps see historical monuments to align with our school when the next one is in fourth grade.

My oldest daughter and I mapped out a route to see people we love plus six National Parks and 13 states!  Since it’s dreaming, we also hit Disneyland and the ocean—because how can we go so close without visiting? Drive time alone is just under four days.  Can I do it?