One Mother's Day

THE CHERRY ON TOP OF BAD

2012-02-13T03:36:00.000-08:00

Oh - I just forget the funniest part.

You just have to have a sense of humor.

In early January I spent THREE DAYS working on an on-line survey for Radio Shack. Well, it wasn't three solid days, but they had us answering questions for 30-60 minutes for three days running. I didn't mind it, though the topic was not of interest, but I certainly wouldn't have done it except for the pay - $30. Enough for a nice little treat of some sort.

Well, I got the check, and put it in the bank.

Imagine my "delight" when I got notification from the Credit Union - the check didn't clear "No Account Found" and I was charged $30!

So, instead of making $30, I lost $30. Just seemed to fit into a pattern, somehow.

THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY - Part 2, The Bad

2012-02-12T10:34:00.000-08:00

Let's just harken back to that work they did on the sewer in late October - all that drilling, tearing up the yard. Bringing to the top a yellowish, cementish-textured sort of earth, then throwing a handful of grass seed on it and calling it good. Looks like someone - well, several someones, are buried in our front yard.

Fast-forward to January when we get our quarterly sewer-water bill. Imagine my horror, the sinking in the stomach to see a request for over $800! Much soul-searching, exploring, confusion. Determined statements on our part that we could not, could NOT owe that much. Blythe assurances on their part that - yes, we did! Eventual discovery that - for some reason - (couldn't have been all that VIBRATION now, could it?) the toilet in the basement (maybe four yards as the worm crawls away from all the digging and vibrating) somehow cracked, and had then leaked out $800 worth of water.

Plumber. $300. New toilet needed; not yet purchase. Seven people in one bathroom.

Not a week later, on (of course) a Friday night, the one remaining toilet upstairs became dramatically plugged up.....plumber called - toilet was plugged not in the toilet itself or the nearby pipes, or even the pipes in the house, no - those leading to the [newly replaced] city pipes - totally clogged with black sludge.... Dirt, too, I bet. Another $300 +

Yes; I am sure this is all the result of the city's work - but I am sure there is no fighting it.

Van broke down in October. For want of a clamp the something was lost, for want of something the engine was lost [probably]. Will be $1,600 to repair....only possibly worth it. We've done without the van; initially we were frozen into immobility, now we are reduced to incapacity. But that causes me to have at least three hours in the KIA every day. Bad.

KIA started sporting the "Check Engine Light". December - $250 for .....a clamp! Light did not go off; directive to return. What?! January - It needed another $250 clamp. Light still on.... oh, dear, better bring it in for a $500 day of taking the engine apart. I was in despair and shock, but might have done it.....except the mechanic went a tad too far. When I paused after the suggestion of the engine exploratative, he intimated that.....well, I had been a little late with that oil change. A little late with the oil change? I'm supposed to believe that is going to totally destroy my engine? Sorry.

This Saturday Craig took KIA in for an oil change (in protest he did not take it to the dealer) - what do you know? The air filter hadn't been changed in a coon's age. Well, guess what? Engine light is now off.

But the money is gone. No clue if it needed clamp one and clamp two at all - but I have my doubts.

Zhen goes to a school that not only charges more tuition than we can really afford, but also takes the kids on a big trip. Previous trips have been to Washington D.C., Boston and educational destinations - this one (I know it will be educational - but it is also appealing) - Disneyland. Can hardly tell Zhen he can't go. $250 for the plane ticket was due a couple of weeks ago. The other nearly $700 for the four day stay will be due in March. God help us.

Property Taxes due.

Therapy, psychiatrist visits not covered by insurance.

$300 in dental work this past week for Sergei.

Enough said. I'm just depleted. Time to trust in God more.......clearly.

CORPORAL PUNISHMENT (Series intermission, sorry)

2012-02-08T07:01:00.000-08:00

Once again I started out to make a brief comment on someone else's post, and wrote so much that it seemed nicer and more courteous to make my own post. Not that I have anything too profound to say. Just a couple of stories.

Christie posted on hands.....and really, about how our children perceive our hands. She was thinking about parents who strike their children out of anger or frustration, or those who believe in physical punishment. It brought to mind a guy I once dated in college and how he used to flinch whenever I'd make an unexpected gesture. For some reason, the first time I noticed it, I immediately understood why and asked him about it. I was stunned to imagine any parent hitting a child in the face.

My mother was no slouch in the discipline department, but I suppose I was a basically cooperative child. I recall only three spankings in my entire childhood and I think I recall them because that is all there were! The first was when I was in kindergarten. I had witnessed a little maneuver on the playground called "sticking out your bottom" when you turn and thrust that body part in the direction of the person you are cross with. I am surprised, frankly, that this had apparently intrigued me and I tried it out on my mom one afternoon. She was rightly appalled and responded by giving me a quick smack on that offending bottom.

Not too long after that I got my second spanking. The nature of this spanking was altogether different. I had dilly-dallied around on the way home from school. Why, I do not know. I only remember [amazing to contemplate in this day and age] that as a kindergartner I walked probably a half-mile or more home by myself at the end of my morning kindergarten class. On one notable occasion, when cutting across a field I got stuck in a big roll of barbed wire, which had become partially unrolled and hidden by snow. It must have caught on my clothing or shoes and trapped me; I remember the panic of not being able to free myself, getting caught by other barbs, and I was scratched rather badly. I remember the red Mercurochrome being applied over the many gashes in my poor little legs. Possibly because of this unfortunate incident, I was instructed to walk directly home. And, this day, I hadn't. My mother had, by now, obviously done some reading on "How to Discipline Your Child". She'd apparently been instructed by the "expert" to talk to me and explain the spanking prior to giving it. And she did. The main thing I remember about that is the cold-bloodedness of it. It made absolute sense to me to be spanked suddenly in response to egregious behavior - but it made no sense at all to hit someone with a complete lack of emotion. Furthermore, the expert must have said not to use your hands, but to employ something else for the spanking, and in our case a ruler was called into service. I don't recall the spanking (not much of one, and not very painful, I suppose - probably three smacks on a bottom well covered with panties, slip and skirt) and I don't recall what she said about my crime. But my mother - associated with an unfeeling, cool intention to inflict pain with a weapon (!) - that I remember vividly! I don't think it felt right to her, either. The last spanking occurred much later - on my 7th or 8th birthday, when she had decided to give a birthday party for me - with friends. Not a usual event. I must have been over-excited, and she must have been stressed out, because she told me to stay outside playing, and I came in anyway - and got a quick spank on the rear with her hand. Hate to say that is the only thing I remember about that party! But, again, I do not recall feeling hardly used, or abused or anything else. I think I completely understood the dynamic, on some level.

That ruler did maintain its role as "The Enforcer". Perhaps they used it on my brother, but honestly I think its primary purpose was as deterrent, "Do you want me to get the ruler?!" No. We didn't!

My physical discipline of Aidan and Lydia was similar (minus the spanking with malice aforethought). I should ask them if they remember any spankings! We did have an upgrade for the ruler; we had (still have somewhere, I think) a red paddle. One of those little paddles which originally had a ball attached by an elastic string. This was kept in dad's bedside table. Presumably it must have been used on some occasion or other, but I only remember it being used as a threat......until! I think I'd given Craig a bedside table without a drawer in some re-arrangement of furniture, so he'd put the red paddle between the mattress and the box springs. Well, let's just say we kept that mattress and box springs far too long. The springs had begun to free themselves from the covering, and when Craig reached under there to retrieve the paddle to sign that he meant business (!) he got a huge cut from the end of a mattress spring. I recall that the miscreants were so horrified that all rowdy behavior ceased forthwith. But, there were a few snickers after that whenever the words "red paddle" were mentioned.

Lydia at 12 - doesn't look like she
could be naughty, does she?

The only spanking I remember giving had a funny and unfortunate after-effect. Lydia was probably eleven or so, and we had gone to Toronto. This was a big deal for us, a special trip! I wanted the children to see the architecture, the important sights - experience a big city! Yet, all Lydia could think of was buying some new shoes and since she is horribly difficult to fit, we traipsed from store to store and didn't find any. But, she would not let go of it - the whole afternoon which should have been dedicated (in my mind) to "valuable" stuff, had been wasted on a useless quest for shoes with a high enough instep to fit her. And she would continue to go on querulously, complaining and whining. She was disappointed, surely, and I was frustrated, particularly after we finally walked to a museum, only to find it had just closed! So, we are walking down the street and she is still complaining about shoes. We got to an intersection and I said, "Watch out, stand back!" Still in mid-complaint she tried to emphasize her point by stepping in front of me and facing me. Whether the curb was uneven or what, I don't know, but she lost balance and began to fall backward right as a car swung around the corner! I grabbed her, pulling her back onto the sidewalk, and in one fell swoop gave her a whap on the rear and exclaimed something along the lines of, "Listen to me before you get killed!"

Well, that close call had scared both of us, and we crossed the street shaky and almost giggly with relief.
We were totally in harmony again, and beginning to discuss our next move when - WOAH! We were attacked - or, let's say, I was attacked by the verbal barrage of a woman who must have seen that whole event from quite a distance - at least the whap on the bottom part of it. And, under full head of steam, she caught up with me to let me know that this sort of behavior from a parent was ABSOLUTELY UNACCEPTABLE! She was so on her high horse that there was no way to let her know that I really agreed with her! That spankings were not typical! That there were some extenuating circumstances..... Well!!!!! She strode off, having done her civic duty, leaving Lydia and me totally shaken. We'd just begun to come back from the adrenaline-rush of the falling-off-the-curb-in-the-path-of-a-car experience, only to have a sudden-verbal-attack-in-the-street experience! We decided in unison to just get back to our hotel - and fast. But Lydia was in such a rush to get there she was practically running! She only told me why later. I was wearing a bright pink dress, and she had the idea that the child protection advocate was next going to call the police and have her taken away from me! She was terrified. My feet hurt after that afternoon of shopping, my breath was still unsteady from the two onslaughts of excitement - I remember that was quite a physically stressful run back to the hotel!

I've never spanked the Russians. It really is not my style. And, it just isn't needed. Or useful. Or reasonable. Or my level of patience has stretched so that I am never upset enough? No, can't be that - I'm frequently upset enough to cry! But, whatever the reason, it is really not due to the Toronto woman!

THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY - Part I, The Good

2012-02-05T09:56:00.000-08:00

Where to begin?

I have all sorts of posts rattling around that actually have some slight merit to them - an idea, you know.... However, seems like an update is called for....several updates. Here is the first:

The good. Maxim is living with us again. For those sort-of new to this blog, Maxim is the foster son we had in our home for three years. Unfortunately for everyone, this was before my awakening, before I understood even the basics of how to deal with a radish or child of early trauma. I just had Sergei, and Zhenya, the perfect children - and Anastasia who up to that point in time, had had occasional tantrums, but otherwise was easy to deal with.

I can see now that Maxim had some significant PTSD issues, and depression. I didn't recognize them, but just relied on intuition and must say I didn't handle everything entirely badly. But, I handled enough things badly that we all had a much harder time than we needed to. And my husband, who like many husbands, feels the need to be authoritative and so forth, didn't "get on" with Maxim at all. All this was exacerbated by the fact that Maxim did not choose to be adopted by us. I can now see that it was because he had been in so many homes, and has such an optimistic nature, that he clung to a kind of "magical thinking" that the perfect home was going to come along. "Perfect" was a place where he was the only child, and where he and his new parents lived in a mini-mansion. Unfortunately, his best friend in 8th grade had this very sort of situation....so of course it seemed quite possible. Our family ("all these kids") and our surroundings were, oh-so-far from this vision.

And because he wouldn't let us adopt him, working with "the State" was another issue - always an irritant. Different people all the time, not offering help, but being disapproving. There is nothing like having people come in all the time and committing to paper the things they find "wrong" with your home and parenting. For example, in the excitement of adopting Ilya, we certainly told our regular social worker but didn't make a special written report to the licensing worker. They "cited" us for this omission. Now, I frankly figured that if they found this worth "citing" us for, then I really didn't care about their silly citations. I have a tendency to only feel badly at criticism I agree with. But, it made Craig hopping mad. We were cited again when we forgot to tell them that Lydia moved out. And again when we changed bedrooms around. Really. We are supposed to let them know who is sleeping in what room. Anyway, the whole thing was annoying.

Really, it was worse than annoying. Their approach created the bad outcome that resulted. Because I'd had the feeling - totally wrong!, totally, that these social workers were in the picture to help us succeed. To give us advice. To point us in the direction of good books, good strategies, etc. No. I made the mistake a few times of calling Maxim's worker when we had a problem. If she had suggested I read Heather Forbes, or had given me Karyn Purvis' website, if she'd come by to let me vent, if she'd done anything at all helpful...... well, things would have been so much better. Instead, she'd always jump to the conclusion that we were calling to have him moved. I'd share an issue - not unlike the way I do on the blog - and instead of sympathy, or advice, I'd get this question "So, you want him moved?" It made so little sense to me that she'd ask that, after presenting my end of the conversation, that I figured it was some sort of requirement that they ask this question at the end of every call. I do not know why we persisted on this track of complete non-communication for so long, but we did. I continued to be committed to this boy in a radical way; I continued to call to ask for advice how to better parent him. They continued to figure we would be perfectly happy to have him removed from our home at the drop of a hat, and to respond to any call I made to them by calling some big group meeting. I cannot remember what those meetings were called, but they could be nasty. And nasty or nice, they were totally inconvenient and unhelpful. Truly - until we had the third one of these nightmarish events, I did not realize that it was me setting the whole thing in motion. Really!

Meanwhile, what with the citations and Maxim's anger-management issues, and these "big meetings" Craig was pretty adamant that Maxim move to a different foster home, which, at the encouragement of a counselor from "the county", he did. In retrospect I can see that the counselor, a great lady and a good counselor as far as it went, really knew less about dealing with traumatized kids than I did. It is hard to forget that so many of these approaches (Dan Hughes, Heather Forbes, Karyn Purvis, etc.) were really new. By the end of our time together, I was giving her resources. But, she feared for our marriage, I think, if Maxim stayed, and just happened to hear about a family who was willing to take a teenager. So away he went.

But the folks in his new home were more clueless than we were. It was a terrible setting for him.

I refused to be part of this boy's life of abandonment and rejection. I told him, and meant it, that I was committed to him. I would stick with him. And I've done it, through some pretty radical ups and downs.
So, I've always had Maxim in the background. I've not mentioned it here, because some local people read this blog and I felt that Maxim was old enough - and not even in my household - so it would not be quite fair to write about him, let alone the people he was living with.

ASIDE: I am seriously considering staring a new blog with a different title, writing under an assumed name, and using nicknames for the kids, so I can continue to blog, but with a bit more openness.....I begin to feel troubled that even regarding the other kids, it is not fair to write about them when they may be in the classrooms or homes of people who read this blog. I wouldn't like it, and the golden rule still applies.

There have been a lot of ups and downs, fearful situations and tears, nearly miraculous close calls, but Maxim graduated from high school and - was dropped from the foster care program. He was only 18, and should never have been dropped, but it seemed pretty clear to me that the reason was his worker's anger at my intervention. (A long story I'll explain some time.) In any case, he ended up with no where to live.

Another sort of miracle occurred, which shall never be described, and the result was - Maxim can come home.

He's grown up a lot. He has a lot more self control. It isn't all easy sailing, as neither Sergei nor Ilya are very happy to give up any portion of their rooms for him. And, Zhenya, who was pretty traumatized by some of his behaviors when he lived with us before, doesn't like him to be living with us.... But, I think it will somehow work out.

He hopes to start at the community college this summer, and he'll have a full tuition scholarship through the state and an allowance. (There are some perks having been a foster child, for sure.) At that point he may move out, but at least we can all feel that he is forever connected with our family, and not totally alone in the world. Thanks be to God.

THERAPY

2012-01-22T10:21:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow we have a BIG day in "Detroit" (as we westerners call anything "over that way")....actually we will be in Livonia, at the therapist's and in Farmington Hills, to see the psychiatrist.

The first time we went to the psychiatrist, we literally had to physically get Anastasia out of bed, into her clothes, into the car and to the appointment. I offered lunch on the way home and a stop at the outlet mall to sweeten the deal and to keep her from jumping out of the car. It seemed anything could be possible. The first trip to the therapist was similar. The third was a bit better and the next easier yet - and so forth. The last couple of times, I've arrived home (from dropping the boys off at school) to find my sweet one nicely dressed and ready to go - and no suggestions that she ought to get a "reward" for going.

One time a few weeks ago I asked her why she seemed so reluctant, especially as she seemed to like Julie (our therapist) and "get a lot out of" therapy. She looked at me as though I were crazy, and said, "Because it makes me feel like there is something wrong with me." Of course! Why would I not see that right away! "Regular" kids don't go to the psychiatrist, or therapy.... Of course I pointed out that a doctor for one's mind is not unlike a doctor for one's body, and referred to Serge's physical therapy appointments; I drew attention to the many young people we see on our way in and out of both places. Perhaps that helped a bit.

Hopefully I won't jinx things by writing that therapy is going pretty well. Julie is wonderful, and Anastasia is more wonderful yet. Frankly, I cannot imagine anyone making more of the opportunity. She doesn't distract or waste time, she settles into the deep issues almost before she sits down - in fact, one day she brought up something very important, while we were yet in the car. She asks questions, gives thoughtful answers - is entirely engaged. I could not be more proud of her.

One nice little bonus is that both offices are quite close to the "Russian Store". The Russian grocery is curiously called "New York Deli". I often chuckle when I envision the many people who have, undoubtedly, come in for corned beef and rye bread, only to find themselves transported to another country.

They have everything you could Here is a freezer full of pelmeni (mostly). I was standing there recently pondering purchasing some when a Russian lady briskly said (as only a Russian would do), "You don't buy these! You make them yourself!" I could hardly purchase any after that! Actually, I have made them myself, and they aren't that difficult. She was right.

The store had just about anything you could want....beverages galore, meats, cheeses, fish; this past visit they had added a whole display of various fresh breads. I was a bit wimpy and couldn't feel comfortable taking more photos than this.

The challenge now is not to spend too much money there. Everything I buy is so coveted by everyone that it doesn't last very long!

I'm so glad that this natural reward has developed to repay Nastya for all her hard work.

HOLIDAY RETROSPECTIVE

2012-01-17T03:35:00.000-08:00

Or......I had a hard time getting the photos in and delayed my Christmas post.....and since this blog is a family journal (well, sort of) in addition to something more varied, I am posting them in the spirit of "better late than never".

Christmas started with stockings under the tree. I packed them so they didn't need labels; it would be obvious who they were for: Kvas for Sergei, pistachios for Ilya, dried fish for Zhenya, and a tiny notebook for Anastasia easily defined the recipient. The stockings are opened at our house, then we go to my mom's place for breakfast and gifts.

We cut waaaay back on gifts this year. Let's just say that an $800 utility bill due to a broken, leaking toilet in the basement (which needed fixing) and another sewage crisis (after hours,of course) on the upstairs toilet, and a check engine light on the car that has required THREE visits to the shop and $500 (check engine light is still on - they can "go deep into the engine" for another $400, but I'm opting out of that right now).....has taken its toll.

Perhaps I provided perspective by getting the kids each a bag or box of candies from Russia. Sergei exclaimed, "This is just what we'd get for Christmas at the Detski Dom!" And that was all they'd get, so things did seem to be better overall, I suppose. :)

We managed to pull together one "nice" gift for each of them. A webcam for Nastia, a nice jacket for Ilya, good headphones for Sergei, and a winter coat for Zhen. And a Wii for everyone.

Before we left my mom got everyone into the kitchen and marked their height on her pantry door....this has sure been Ilya's year to shoot up! And Zhen, too!

And the following Tuesday we went to Pittsburgh to see Aidan and Susan and the kids, who were at Susan's parents' house. We stay in a motel, and Susan's folks provide lovely hospitality at dinner. This was breakast at a new sushi restaurant. It was good! All the kids are mad about sushi for some reason. Below, Cal is enyoying his rice, and being very talkative with "Ma Kitching" (me).

Cal turned four on November 30. In still photos he looks a lot like Aidan did, but in person, not so much. Aidan was the calmest, most placid little boy who ever lived (God knew how much I could handle). Cal is much more active - not hyperactive at all, but just a very lively, talkative, energetic little guy. So cute! And, so well behaved. At one point back at the house, he got a bit carried away and in running around the table knocked his little brother down. Instead of stopping to see if Patrick was OK, he kept going. Aidan called him to account, and told him to go take a time out. Sergei was very impressed with the way Cal obeyed immediately - he gave a little sigh and a sorrowful shake of the head, but then walked directly out of the room to his time-out spot on the stairs. He is a good little boy, that's for sure, and Aidan and Susan are super parents.

It was interesting to watch how easily Cal could accept a time out, as his just due. In fact, he is savvy enough, that you could even sense that he saw "doing his time" on the stairs as part of staying connected with his dad and the whole family circle. Cannot imagine the agitation and meltdown that would follow if someone suggested Anastasia take a time out to calm down or whatever.

Here are Susan and Cal at the ice skating rink, where we went next. Cal was into the mood of making silly faces whenever I tried to take a picture.

Anastasia did pretty well on the trip.....the worst she did was say things about me, under her breath a time or two... I could see Aidan didn't like it, but having seen her at her worst recognized that it was minor. Didn't endear her, though. Altogether, she kept it together, even though just about everything was a minor trigger....schedule upset, new people, places, family, seeing little chldren being loved and cherished.

She was good with the nephews, and here was checking in to see if Cal would like to have her help him around the rink.

On Thursday morning we all went out to the Original Pancake House for breakfast before we started home. I'll close with a photo of Peej (who doesn't look too much like baby Aidan, but Aidan thinks he does.)

THE BAT AND BALL

2012-01-15T15:48:00.000-08:00

A smart one.

Here's a little question for you.... If a bat and a ball cost $1.10, and the bat costs $1 more than the ball, how much does the ball cost?

I heard this question on the radio. Someone on the BBC was interviewing an expert in how the brain works, specifically in quick thinking and slow thinking.

Got the answer yet?

Well, I did not get the answer right....using my fast thinking. When I heard what the correct answer is, I was in the car and must have driven for another ten minutes (albeit listening to the rest of the interview) wondering WHY my answer was wrong, and how their "correct" one could possibly be right.....(all the time using my slow thinking) before it came to me. I felt so stupid. (Nothing with numbers comes to me easily, I confess.)

Well, the next day I asked Zhenya. He immediately came back with an answer, and I didn't miss the "of course" tone in his voice - and his answer - it was right.

He is great with numbers, and smart as a whip, as well.

They said that over half of the students at Harvard got it wrong, too......that did make me feel a bit better.

What answer did you get?

The answer is: (scroll over) 5 cents

THANK YOU!! AND THANK YOU!!

2012-01-13T14:29:00.000-08:00

Thanks so much to Traumamama T who gave me an award!

Back when I began blogging she was my inspiration for a short period of time until she dropped out. But, now she is back, anonymously, and I'm so glad. Please check out T's blog!

So here's how this works. There are two parts to it when you are nominated. First you have to list seven things about yourself that your readers might not know. Then you pass the love along by nominating (up to) five of your favorite blogs for the award.

I am nominating five bloggers, all are very dear to my heart, for this award.

First, Hevel Shir Cohen, whose blog is KosherKola. Hevel is nothing if not versatile! He is a wonderful writer, a parent of many children, bio and adopted (from a variety of situations and countries), and he, himself, is adopted from a disruption. He is well-versed in many different faiths, and respects the deepest spirituality in all of them. He lives in the Holy Land, is Irish, but grew up as a Mormon in the US. And, he cooks! Now - find another blogger with more versatility than that!

Second: Lindsay Crapo Home: A Soft Place to Fall Lindsay is beyond inspiring. I love her blog all the more because, having met her in person, I know she actually exists with the same level of joyful energy and creative mothering, that we can read about on her blog. Hard to believe anyone can pull off things the way she does - or describe the joy and heartbreak of loving traumatized kids - as well. A gifted writer, too! Plus, as her FB friend I have been privy to photos of her homemade cupcakes and other treats. Unequivocally versatile! She puts me to shame, on every front. I just love her.

Third: Deb Walker at Slava Bogu I've read Deb's blog for a long time, and am always impressed by her sweet and understanding spirit, and her amazing love. I could never do what she does. She works full-time, at a job which requires travel, and raises a family of four. Deb writes a wonderful blog, but never goes out seeking readers. She should have more!

Fourth: Christie at Our Family Blog Such a wealth of inspiration, and ideas and sweet stories from this family of four girls. I love Christie's blog for a lot of reasons, but partly because she is on her "second family", too. Versatile, because on this blog we get recipes, adoption-related thoughts, homeschooling tips and a lot more.

Fifth: Rachael at Five is the New Four Rachael gets a dispensation (if she wants one) on the "requirements" for receiving the reward. At this very moment she is in Ukraine adopting her new teenage son. At home she is a mother of four other children, one from Russia, an obstetrician (wow!) another marvelous cook and decorator, plus she is so warm-hearted and charming. And a good writer! Her blog is terrific.

So many other bloggers I'd like to mention, whose blogs I adore, but this time I focused on versatile; I guess that's the point!

Now for Seven Things about me you might not know. I've done this a few times, but suppose most of you haven't read it....nevertheless, I'm trying to put in new ones.

1. From the time I can remember, I felt so strongly that I was born in the wrong century. Everything in me gravitated to things a hundred years older, to the point where I began to even have some ideas that I was somehow "placed" in the wrong century. I would probably still feel this way except for the following miracle:

2. Our firstborn, Aidan, was born at 27 weeks, and also with a condition called hydrops fetalis, which is often fatal - especially in boys. Especially 27 years ago! If it hadn't been for modern technology - he wouldn't be here, and I probably wouldn't either. So, for a few years every time that longing "oh, I wish I were back in.....", I'd have to immediately realize that if it were that long ago time, I'd be in big trouble. Thus that lifelong yearning, for the most part, went dormant.

3. I have lived in an old brothel (The Silver Bell, in Telluride, Colorado), in an old Brew house (also in Telluride), in the HOT L Moscow, in Moscow, Idaho, in an old TB Hospital in Gooding, Idaho, in a Jewish Fraternity in Boulder, Colorado, in a cottage in Chautauqua Park in Boulder, in the janitor's closet of an old apartment building on Capitol Hill in Seattle,Washington, in a facility for the homeless in Oakland, CA, and in a studio apartment in NYC.....among other unique places. The worst of these was the dreadful place for the homeless; the best was - oh! - hard to say! The Chautauqua cottage was lovely, but for uniqueness nothing could beat the Silver Bell.

4. The place I'd most like to have a chance to live for a bit is in a Russian dacha.

5. I acted in the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, the Colorado Shakespeare Festival, at American Conservatory Theatre and in a number of regional theaters. Shakespeare characters I've played in full performances include: Hermia, Audrey, Titania, Puck, a "Weird Sister", Adrianna, Hero and Viola. I think my best performances were probably Bananas in House of Blue Leaves and Madame Arcati in Blythe Spirit.

6. The happiest I have ever been has been in Russia.....

7. I think the authors who have had the most influence on me have been Laura Ingalls Wilder and Leo Tolstoy....how's that for a pair? (Jane Austen and Barbara Pym have given me the most joy.)

Now it is up to Hevel, Christie, Deb, and Lindsay (Remember, Rachael is exempted since she is out being versatile, and Hevel is actually exempted too, because he just did "seven facts" and more, so all he needs to do is link), if they want to play. Even if they don't, I love them. Go visit!

RUSHING AROUND

2012-01-05T10:47:00.000-08:00

We live where the Lansing button is. Brighton is about
halfway to Livonia.

I feel like I am in the car soooo much! I get sick of it. Yesterday was especially crazy. I drove the boys to school - first to Grand Ledge (about a 15-20 minute drive), then Zhen to his school in Old Town (another 20 min.), then there were some errands to do. The bank. The pharmacy. Back to Zhen's school to pay his tuition. Then to McDonald's to get Anastasia the hotcakes she requested (special treat for therapy day). Then to therapy - I allow an hour and a half for the trip to Livonia.

An hour of therapy and back to Lansing, just giving me enough time to drop her off at home and head out to Grand Ledge to pick up the boys, then up to Old Town to pick up Zhen, then back home to drop them off. Then yesterday, I had to take the car in to get a new clamp of some sort put on. A half hour in the waiting room reading Dan Hughes.

Then to the store, then home to make dinner. Dinner. Then off to Williamston to let Anastasia visit a friend (20 min or so, the opposite direction of Grand Ledge) then I needed to drop by my office, so Zhenya could pick up his basketball uniform, then on to his game at Resurrection School - about 7 minutes away. On the way out Zhenya was in one of his crazy moods, loud, silly raucous. But, I endured it patiently. Once we dropped Anastasia off, suddenly he said - "Mom, I feel sick. I have a terrible headache." I tried to analyze this - was he fooling around with me? Or really sick? Was he really sick, or just coming down from a "silly high"? I asked a few questions, suggested he just sit quietly and then I ignored it, for the most part, and drove....waiting to see what would transpire.

I was thrilled at how well the timing of this was all going. I was ready to swing by my office so Zhen could pick up his uniform right at 6:35; he needed to be at Resurrection at 6:45. I handed him the key so he could get into my office if it was locked. Then I sat in the dark parking lot; I put my head on the steering wheel, and relished the quiet for a moment. He was back pretty quickly with his stuff; I asked, "Did you remember your shoes?" He answered in his sarcastic voice. "Right, mom. I forgot my shoes...." OK, well, it was sort-of a stupid question.

The door slammed, and we were off. I hadn't heard any more about the "headache" so I said, "OK, Zhen, I'm onto you; you really had me going there for a moment. You're a good little actor, but I was not going to buy that about you suddenly having a headache after acting like such a clown for the whole ride." We were cutting it close. I assured him we'd be on time, then, as we approached the school said, "I'll pull up in front, you hop out!" But, there were too many cars. "Just stay in the car; I'll have to go around back, but I'll pull up on the side." I did this, and said, "You're only a minute late, in you go!" But, he didn't move. "Zhen, get moving!" Nothing. I glanced back, and it looked like he was lying down. "Zhen!" Good heavens. Had he fallen asleep?! It hit me that maybe he had had a serious headache! Had he passed out?! I jumped out of the car and opened the back door. He wasn't laying there. That little twirp! "Zhen, this is not funny! You get out of there!" and I pulled aside the blanket in the far back. No Zhen! Had he already jumped out? No. He would have taken his uniform. His uniform.... It was still there on the seat. But there were - no shoes.

Suddenly I realized. He wasn't being sarcastic! He really didn't remember his shoes. He'd gone back into the office to get them and I'd driven off! Good Heavens! He was back at St. Thomas Aquinas, wondering where I was!!!! So, I hopped in the car, and headed back to STA. Half way back I got a call. Zhen had finally figured out which phone to use (I have two) and how to call me (he had to dial 9). I assured him I was almost there. I laughed all the way back, thinking how much conversation I'd had with no one! What a dummy!

Picked up Zhen, back to Resurrection, and amazingly enough, there were a couple of minutes to spare before the game started. Despite not warming up, he played pretty well. They won.

Then it was back out to Williamston to pick up Anastasia, and home again by 9.....only to hear that we had no milk. So, one more trip out into the world before bed.

Not exactly a typical day, but not a rare one either. (Except usually, I put in some time at work!)

THE RETURN - Movie Review

2012-01-02T06:13:00.000-08:00

On New Years Eve Craig and I did something typically "uncool"; we watched a Russian movie on Netflix. We didn't get to watch it "on the big screen" (the TV); no; Anastasia and Zhenya had that, but we watched it on my computer. Nevertheless, it turned out to be one of the most unforgettable experiences. I would say that he and I have probably spent 2-3 hours overall discussing this movie over the three days since we saw it....and both of us have spent even more time thinking about it, and we keep coming back to it. I love movies like this - the ones that make you think. And think. And think.

The plot of The Return involves the sudden re-appearance of a father who, for unknown reasons, disappeared twelve years previously. His two sons, who appear to be around 13 and 15, live with their mother and grandmother in a remote part of Russia, near a large lake. This film is exquisitely shot, and the acting is universally fine - the performances of the two boys are unforgettable. Anyone who knows even a bit of Russian will enjoy hearing it here, because they will understand almost everything. The dialogue is simple but there is actually very little of it. The film is subtitled, but those who hate reading subtitles won't have to do much of it.

The Return is a suspense movie on the surface, but anyone who watches it for that reason will be disappointed. Why did the father disappear? Why did he return? Why does he take the boys on a fishing trip, and then, instead end up taking them to a deserted island in the middle of the lake? The suspense, and the foreboding, ominous feel of the film create a mesmerizing effect, but this is what most would call an "art film" - its essence is in the deeply moving symbolism and in the beautifully developed relationships between the characters. The big questions that arise from the suspense are never answered, which can be frustrating until you realize that the story is told from the children's point of view. And to children, so much of what adults do is a mystery. Why do parents come? Why do they leave? What business is it that they do with other adults?

To children, too, their worlds are made up of their friends and their parents. Hence, in The Return, the world is sparsely populated. Only in a few scenes do any outsiders enter into the boys' lives. That aspect, too, creates a sense of fear and vulnerability...... It adds to the tension of the film, but once you realize that the action is seen from the children's point of view, it says much about the condition of childhood.

For those who are trying to parent children who haven't been with them from infancy, this film can provoke much thought about the approach to discipline, to ways to form relationship, the role of resilience and personality, and, most of all, the need for connection and what happens without it. But, this film can raise deep questions for all parents. While in the story the father has been absent for most of his boys' lives, due to his mysterious business - many parents are absent from children's lives more than they want due to their (from the children's point of view) mysterious "business" and what does that say about how parents need to relate to their children?

Central to the theme of this movie is the critical need for connection. The father has so many of the right instincts. In so many ways he shows compassion. He understands what the boys need to learn to become men. But, the lack of connection he has with his sons makes so much that he does seem random and chaotic - and to the more sensitive boy of the two - frightening. The filmmaker cleverly causes his audience to feel so much anxiety, so many things seem ominously destined to go badly - and yet, throughout the film, it is not the things we fear that come to pass - the horror comes when it is least expected.

This film is up there with the best I have ever seen.

I actually have a great longing to write a paper about it. Sad thing that once you are out of school, time does not allow you to write random papers. But - will you discuss it with me? If you watch this, I'd love, love, love to talk about it with you more via e-mail or facebook, or whatever else we can contrive.

NOTE: This is not something to watch with your children - though, I think I will suggest that Maxim (19), my deep-thinker, watch it. (Curiously, Maxim looks so much like the older brother in the film.) Otherwise, children and even young people who have undergone separation from parents will probably find this film far too upsetting and confusing.

WHY DID I TAKE THESE PICTURES???!!?

2011-12-26T06:39:00.000-08:00

I decided to throw all (well, a few) of my pictures in here with a brief explanation. This one is in honor of Essie. HOW I miss her blog. If you don't know why this photo, you have to read this post. I say a prayer for Essie and her girls whenever I slam a cart (which doesn't seem at all the appropriate thing to do.....but, I can't think of anything better.)

Zhen turned twelve in November, and we went out for lunch. I guess I was too busy to actually post about it at the time (though it isn't that scintillating an event for those not involved, I know). Also, (in my defense) he did not want a haircut when school time rolled around, or in October, or in November.....Frankly, I didn't want to take any pictures of him; he was looking like a mess, but I did break down and take a few on his birthday. To my delight, he finally realized that his thick and coarse hair is not, no matter how long it gets, going to shine and glimmer as he shakes it into place. I expect he wanted to look like Justin Bieber or some such.... It just isn't working out for him.

I took this photo of Anastasia and Zhenya returning cans and bottles at the store, only because it pleased me so much to see them working together. Nothing like money as a motivator.

Also, I needed to distract myself from the absolute stench in this room. The smell of stale beer - just too awful.

All summer I had a regular little treat - next to the door I'd planted a few tomato plants, given to us (grown from seed) by one of the Russian school moms. This was my favorite plant - grape tomatoes, and the tastiest morsels imaginable. It became an understood thing that this plant was "mama's". Amost every day throughout July and on, there were a few for my delectation. And, on they went....I actually took this photo sometime in November, the day it was going to freeze, thinking these were my final tomatoes. but even after all the foliage was dead, I got a couple more tomatoes just a few weeks ago.

Three of my favorite Russian girls - they all came to Dana's funeral. Vika lives in Detroit; she and Sasha (center) were at Zhenya's orphanage. Masha, on the right, is the sister of Misha, who was for years Sergei's best friend. (And her mom gave me the tomatoes!) It was touching to see how much these girls loved Dana, and recognized all she did for them.

There was a little display at the funeral, with some of the notes and letters Dana had received from the children and parents she worked with. I noticed this one, which Anastasia wrote several years ago.

I don't write much about work here, but I organized an "Activity Morning" for moms and preschoolers/homeschoolers the week before Christmas. These are always a lot of work up-front, thinking of the activities, and providing all the supplies and planning ahead for every eventuality...but once that's done (!) the actual event is so much fun. Here some boys work on the Christmas card activity.

These girls are making Christmas ornaments - pictures of the Holy Family, mounted on card, and framed with colored macaroni. The effect is actually kind of nice. I frankly don't have the patience to do this, but it is a nice fine motor exercise for the children.

I have often had the children decorate Christmas cookies for themselves and their moms, but this time it occurred to me to have them make punch, too. So, the helper poured the clear fizzy drink, and the children got to use tongs to add ice, and their choice of lime, lemon and orange, then a squirt of red fruit drink from a squeeze bottle. Shown with these boys is my wonderful intern, Marie. She is amazing. And, she is beautiful, though this photo does not do her justice.

Here is my Iraqi friend, Ban. She helps with so many things, including assisting with the activity morning. (She led the children in making a little "kit" they could set up at home with a cardstock manger, straw, and a tiny, plastic baby.) Ban is a catechist, and she tutors my kids in math.

So there we are. I have a bit of a life after my stint as "trauma mama". I know this isn't a very interesting post, but it rounds out the picture a little bit.

RAISING ABEL (Review)

2011-12-20T11:27:00.000-08:00

I spent a few days last week in good company. Another trauma-mama had all my attention; I was reading the book I mentioned in a previous post, Raising Abel, by Carolyn Nash.

Raising Abel covers the seventeen years between Carolyn's adoption of the three-year-old Abel, and his turning twenty-one......years of sweetness, violence, personal growth, and heartache. Carolyn. Nash, single and 37 when she adopted Abel from foster care, clearly had the nurturing heart of a mother. From the beginning, she was cut from good trauma-mama cloth, woven with patience, forgiveness, empathy and lots and lots of love - not affection, but true, committed, sacrificial love. From the beginning Abel tested her mettle, with tantrums born of PTSD, and behavioral issues stemming from early trauma and lack of nurture.  The revelations of almost every kind of abuse make one marvel at the resilience of children and wonder that the residual effects weren't even worse.

The terrifying part of the book for me personally, was seeing how a little boy who was doing well, and even, seeming to master the difficult behaviors of his early childhood, was completely derailed by the inner shift wrought by puberty. A boy who clearly loved his adoptive mother, and who had obviously bonded with her, turned into a strong young man who could terrorize and even harm her in fits of PTSD, the triggers for which were now less easy to discern. I lost sleep over descriptions of Abel as a teen, enraged and out of control, chasing his mother through the night-time fields on their remote country property, and Abel, a body-builder, smashing all the windows of their truck, and the walls and the furniture, and everything he could see in their home. And tears flooded my eyes, as he sobbed in sorrow and shame over what he had done, and his terrified mother struggled to make life-altering decisions in response.

Surprising in a book of this sort, the reader is carried along on waves of suspense. For far too long, Carolyn loves and cares for this vulnerable little guy, while they both are tormented by visits and possible permanent return to his abusive mother. All the while Abel, only three, begins, bit by bit, to reveal the monstrous and unbelievable actions of adults who were supposed to love and protect him. Anyone with experience of the fractured, and so often error-ridden social service system won't be able to breathe quite normally for much of the book...and then, there are the disturbing and cloudy areas in Carolyn's own childhood, which prompted by Abel's revelations, and aided by a wonderful therapist, begin to reveal troubling mysteries from Carolyn's own past.  Yes, for many reasons it is a page-turner, but probably the aspect of the book that causes the mother of a traumatized child to turn the pages with a mix of anticipation and apprehension is the question - will he - will they - be healed?

One of the most interesting aspects of this book for me was watching this story play out, as Carolyn adopts and raises Abel in the years just before many of the recent discoveries in brain research and neuroscience that have led people like Dan Hughes, Bruce Perry, Heather Forbes, Karyn Purvis and others to develop specific strategies for parenting children with early trauma. The first (and every subsequent) time Carolyn gives Abel a "time-out" it is all I could do not to cry out, "No! Time IN!!!" While I rejoiced in the therapeutic relationship with the gifted Amanda that led to so much growth on Carolyn's part, I chafed at the lack of information she received about how Abel was progressing with his counselor, and found myself aching for diadic therapy or Theraplay.

And, perhaps that is another of the suspenseful aspects of this story- will Carolyn's instincts - which are generally so right - win out over what was then (and is too often now) the conventional wisdom? Will her love be enough? As Abel's behavior becomes more severe she allows herself to (or perhaps it is better to say, she is forced to) turn to programs that focus on behavior rather than trauma resolution - and, sure enough - Abel goes through a behaviorally-based residential treatment program, which has the expected [by me] result - a short-term change followed by a resurfacing of the behaviors generated by the deep hurts and shame that a program like that will never touch (and will, in fact, make worse by adding the shame of failure). And Abel's mother, in desperation, also turns to hospitals and pharmaceutical interventions, only to find what an inexact science it is, sometimes making things worse rather than better.

Raising Abel is a beautifully written book, and not a difficult read. It focuses on the story, and does not pretend to educate or preach. While a parallel is drawn between Abel and the physically disabled sister of his best friend, that image is not necessary to get the point across - a child like Abel, no matter what his behavior looks like - deserves understanding and compassion.  Any parent, any educator, will be drawn to make ones own conclusions but most assuredly, will grow in understanding and compassion in the process.

THE HARDEST POST TO WRITE

2011-12-17T03:59:00.000-08:00

Last week the foundation of my world shifted beneath me. I learned that Dana Marra the extraordinary, precious woman who gave me my children – had died Few people have ever had a greater impact on my life. She gave me my precious Russians.

Dana had an amazing life – God selected her to work miracles here on earth. Day by day she worked hand in hand with Him. Whenever I thought of her and what she meant to me, the words that flew into my mind most readily were "handmaid of the Lord". It hardly seemed right to use this phrase, uttered by Mary (Luke 1:38), about anyone else. And yet, even on further thought, that seems to me to be the role Dana played - in my life, and in so many others.

I remember vividly the first time I talked to Dana. I'd heard that some parents of a friend of Lydia's had adopted two Russian children. With all my love for Russia, and with my previous thoughts about adoption, I'd never heard such a thing was possible. The only international adoption I'd heard about was China. And, we'd looked into that and realized that never in this lifetime was it anything we could afford. And now - we were surely too old. But, when I met Lydia's friend's parents - they were clearly older than Craig and I, and they were clearly not all that well off; yet there they stood with their two little Russian children. So, on a whim, I contacted the first agency I had any knowledge of (vaguely, through someone at church) and I requested a packet of information about Russian adoption. Before the packet arrived - within only a day or two - I picked up the phone, and on the other end was Dana. Dana had a little Russian boy for me - when could I take delivery?

Coincidentally, right at the time I wrote to her, (are there coincidences?) Dana had a group of children in Michigan on a hosting program. The family who was hosting Sergei had decided not to adopt, and Dana was looking for a family for him. My heart stopped, I think, and I was filled with horror. I have never back-pedaled so fast!!! I was overwhelmed with panic! What had I done? I'd just been messing about with the idea! It was not even a pipe-dream! I'd just been day-dreaming when I asked for that packet - not serious!!!

This was one of the few times Dana had to use her persuasive powers with me! Persuade she did......in that, and in a few subsequent conversations over the next few days. Little did I know that she was using those powers with a few other families, as well. Now it makes me shudder with horror to imagine how close we came to losing our Sergei. But, advocate for children that she was, Dana was going to leave no stone unturned in order to find that boy a home. Dana also saw a deeper truth in all of it - she often said, "God gives you the children you are supposed to have." Sergei was ours from the beginning of time. But it was Dana's mission to deliver him.

Long story short, she cajoled me.....and praise God she did!

But, the expense - how could we afford adoption? We could afford adoption because Dana took almost nothing for her work with older children. This is where her heart was and if she saw a chance to get a child a good home, she was not going to allow money to stand in the way. All we paid was a few thousand dollars over the actual cost of travel and what we paid the people in Russia - and, Dana didn't work with the very expensive and very unhelpful Russian staff that many other adoptive parents complained about - the staff Dana had put together in Russia was amazing! To begin with, they were people we could trust and come to love, but they were foremost, caring people who did not see adoption as a path to undue riches. So, while other families, adopting from the same orphanages, paid over $40,000 to bring their children home, we paid just a bit over the cost of the tax refund.

And Dana was careful and knowledgeable. She took her responsibilities with each family very seriously. And she was good at what she did, scrupulous about detail. While families I knew, who went through other agencies, waited months and months, even years longer than we did, often finding it was due to errors and shoddy paperwork, we never had a glitch - not once in four adoptions, was there anything our agency did that caused a problem or a delay. Dana was absolutely trustworthy, and so respectful and wise in her dealings with the people in Russia.

With Sergei, at his hosting family, was another little boy, Valeri. He was a couple of years older, and there was no way we were going for two! But, he weighed on my mind, and more so, Dana’s. She cajoled me to “ask around”. I did better than that (well, let’s say I was “prompted”). Standing in the sacristy before Mass, I suddenly had the idea to have father make a plea for a family for this boy. I have to tell you, in a large Catholic Church such an individual and personal thing is rarely, if ever done – but the Spirit that prompted me, also prompted our pastor – and the family at Mass that morning who called me, interested in adopting Valeri. So, in that way, for the first time, I joined in this grand work Dana was doing. It was the first of many times. Dear, dear Dana was generous in her willingness to allow me, and others, to share in this wondrously loving work she did. And, somehow in that sharing, I developed a bond of love with her that was different and deeper than with any ordinary friend.

I cannot believe that I can never again tell her what she is to me! Not that I never told her! I tried to express it again and again - but in person, certainly, words failed. I am pretty sure I expressed it in writing. I think she knew on one level, but can't imagine how she could ever really understand how much she meant to me......

Dana Marra was my miracle. But for Dana I would not have my family. No Sergei, Zhenya, Nastya, Ilya - no Maxim. Who would I love? What would I do with my days? What would I have done with myself? How could have lived without this mission to love, that comes so clearly from God....but handed to me by Dana.

God rest her soul, and dear Lord, thank you, THANK YOU for her!

Dana with Nastya and three other Russian girls whose lives she changed.

MELT-DOWN!

2011-12-09T07:37:00.000-08:00

Yesterday Ilya celebrated his seventeenth birthday....though both he and we feel like he is fifteen. In any case, we splurged and got him a TV for his room so he can play xbox. I am not a "TV-in-the-room" kind of person, but Ilya never asks for anything. Never. In all his years with us, this is the only thing he has ever said he really wanted. He never complains, never begs, never even requests certain foods over others (with the one exception that he detests pizza - it makes him gag and he can't eat it). He wouldn't even specify a special birthday dinner. So, obviously, he had to get his TV.

We had a plain old stir-fry for dinner, but I purchased (time not being sufficient to make) a very nice cake.

Just as Ilya was putting plates on the table for the cake, and making a little joke (which he so rarely, does - evident of his happy mood) of putting the entire cake on his plate.....I hear glass breaking in the kitchen, a glass falling into the sink. Innocently stupid me; I hadn't even noticed that the presentation of this cake was pulling a trigger. Sergei said, "That doesn't sound good."   And it wasn't good. It wasn't an accident. It was the beginning of a couple of hours of really, really bad energy.

The first thing that I noticed, after obliviously attributing the shattered glass sound to an accident, was Anastasia going into the living room and pouring a Diet Coke on the carpet. Then she began to grab the various things in the room, pillows, books, etc., and throw them all over. Of course I left the table and went in there and did all I could do to defuse the bomb.

I'm not particularly astute or bright.   I could tell this was birthday-related, and figured it was also probably a delayed reaction to reading all her paperwork from Russia. This is something she decided in therapy that she had to do, and her therapist agreed that Anastasia had the right to know everything there was to know. [By the grace of God her paperwork was not as bad as it might have been....lots of repetition, refrains almost - "mother known to be of bad reputation" "public drunkenness" "immoral lifestyle" "left without foodstuffs, or furniture" "not taken to the doctor to get inoculations or check ups" "not sent to kindergarten or given any education" "left to beg".   After reading it she commented to me about her mother not "visiting or showing any interest in" her baby brother, but apart from that there wasn't much that Anastasia didn't already know and actually remember. However, I should have known there was a time bomb there.

She didn't know what to say, I guess. So, she had to show me what she felt. She grabbed the papers out of her notebook and tore them up and threw them around the living room. I made a few miss-steps because I recall at one point her threatening me if I said "anything bad about my mother!" But, later she expressed her anger that Ilya was cared for, Ilya was fed, but she wasn't, and got angry at me for suggesting that her mother did the best she could..... [no winning in this game]

At one point, she ran through the house grabbing photos of herself and tearing them up. Then she ran to the desk where a big envelope of all the kids photos are kept, and she did tear up one of Lydia; somehow I got them and hid them while she was doing that. She grabbed my arms and held me (I really didn't try to get away....just to look into her eyes and listen). Eventually (after at least an hour of hard work on my part coping with her anger and violence) she burst into tears and expressed her anger and grief.

Of course, feeling that Ilya was more fortunate than she was to begin with, taken to live with grandma and fed, seeing him presented with a birthday cake was way.too.much.   It was interesting that for the first time her threats of retribution went past the poor souls who adopted her, to include going to Russia to find her family and make all their lives a "living hell". (About this time, I was envisioning buying her the ticket, frankly.)

One great difficulty that hangs over our child-management is that husband is a behaviorist and we never agree on how to handle Anastasia in these fits. Because his methods haven't worked, and mine often seem to (albeit delayed), he pretty much leaves me to it. But, if he had his way, would deal with the behavior (regardless of origin) and would put her in "time out" [like we have a padded room to hold her???]. This is what he says, anyway. He would give her punishments for this kind of behavior. I can't imagine what punishments we could give her, honestly. All she does for any sort of escape is watch TV. She is in bad shape at the moment, with no social life. She shows little interest in eating. But my husband has some idea that she "enjoys" this stuff (I think she is in hell during it, myself). In any case, he wants her to PAY.

To be fair, in most of my reading - even Karyn Purvis, there is some expectation that after the meltdown is over, the child will be expected to do some sort of reparation. While this seems reasonable, I have not had any luck with it. The next day can come; she can be more or less regulated again, but the moment I begin to touch on what occurred, I can see that she is filled with shame for what she did, and the shame threatens to throw her back where she was and launch a repeat..... She seems more able to re-visit the ugly place than do any sort of "re-do" or "reparation".

Am I doing something wrong, or is she too far gone? Or is my husband right? As regards this, I'm at a loss.

What I usually do is try and help her get through the fit via acceptance and curiosity, then the boil breaks, so to speak; she crumples in tears and grief and neediness and reveals the heart of the pain she is feeling. She is vulnerable; I try and give her comfort and a feeling of safety. That is the end.

Seems to me on some level, like she's suffered herself going through all that anger to the place of honesty and vulnerability. The process was its own punishment. I just can't really see why other "punishment" is necessary.....though reparation seems like a "nice" idea. I just can't see it happening, as it would require going back to that feeling of seeing herself as a nasty, bad, destructive person, from a place of more relative peace.

Also I forgive easily, and my forgiveness involves forgetting. Real forgetting. Maybe I don't want to "go back there" any more than she does....because I always feel as though she has moved forward, fought a demon, and is in a new place.

By the way, if you want to feel sorry for me.....when it was all over and, shaking and worn, I shuffled into the kitchen to get a piece of cake.....due to miscalculation, it..... was.... all.... gone.

NEWS FLASH FOR KINDLE OWNERS!

2011-12-09T05:02:00.000-08:00

I've been reading a very powerful "trauma mama" book - Raising Abel by Carolyn Nash. It is a gut-wrenching story of a horrifically abused three year old, but at the same time, an inspirational story of the healing love of his therapeutic-foster-mama. (Hopefully his adoptive mama, but I haven't gotten that far yet.) One would hardly expect this sort of book to also be full of suspense, but it is, which is one reason I couldn't put it down last night. As his foster mama wins his love and begins his path of healing, there is still the looming and awful possibility of reunification with his abusive mother....and while working with Abel, his foter mom begins to get glimmers of nightmarish things hidden in her own past, which may give meaning to the way her life has come together.

Just to say, it is a great read - and I was even quoting it to my husband this morning, as justificaion for the way I handled things last night. Ms. Nash's trials were surprising salve to the wounds I was feeling after having undergone one heck of an Ilya's-birthday-induced melt-down after dinner last night. Every aspect of her interactions with Abel are just so true to the kinds of things those of us who parent children of trauma experience. I think I'll want to do a "real" review when I finish it, but I just noticed that today only, Raising Abel is FREE for download on Kindle!

Go for it!

THE WISDOM OF ANASTASIA'S GODFATHER

2011-12-06T03:24:00.000-08:00

Anastasia's godfather is one of my favorite priests, Fr.Karl Pung. In our beautful Diocesan magazing FAITH, he was asked to give his "last" homily. I have to say, that it overwhelmed me. It could be a message straight to the heart of his bruised little goddaughter. I like it so much I'm sharing it here.

Allow the image of the resurrected Christ to guide your healing and sanctification.

In this earthly existence, our being hurt and wounded at some point is a given. No one can escape the various emotional, physical, psychological, and spiritual wounds that are inflicted upon us as we walk through our lives. Each of these wounds change who we are. Every wound disrupts the right ordering
of our mind, body and soul; it disrupts our relationships with God, neighbor, self and creation. In short, each wound leaves its own mark.

The real question that confronts us is how to deal with these wounds. One temptation is to try and handle these wounds on our own. We may try to acknowledge then deny our hurts, wish them away, or to try and numb them with one vice or another. None of these will bring us true healing. These are various ways to cope, some better than others, but they do not heal the soul, mind or body.

For Christians, being healed is first about acceptance and is then about transformation. Healing is not about returning to what we once were, or forgetting that something happened. Healing for a Christian is about allowing Christ to transform every aspect of our being into something that no longer causes us pain; something that is loved, gives God glory, and still allows every action or memory to remain a part of who we are. The image that comes to us from Scripture is Jesus’ carrying his own wounds in his resurrected body.

After Jesus’ resurrection, he still has the marks of his crucifixion, but they are transformed. When people look upon his wounds and touch them, these wounds do not cause Jesus pain, but give God glory. That is what we want for ourselves. To be transformed in such a way that all of our hurts no longer hurt, but give God glory. This transformation occurs first by accepting our wounds and pains, and then by inviting
Jesus into them and allowing him to love them and to transform them. Each of our wounds will be with us for eternity, but there will be a day when they too will give glory to God instead of causing us pain.

Let us pray to know the love that Jesus knew that allowed him to trust himself and his wounds into the hands of the Father. Together, let us give God glory and be transformed.

SICK FOR A WEEK - AND, IT'S NOT ABOUT MC DONALDS

2011-11-29T04:03:00.000-08:00

Yes; weekend before last I began to cough a bit, then Monday night I was really feeling pretty puny. That was about the last of me for a week. Tuesday and Wednesday I did nothing but cough and sleep. Same on Thursday. We'd generously been given a pre-cooked Thanksgiving meal, but I was so sick, and Sergei was also so sick, that no one ate Thanksgiving dinner. On Wednesday Sergei had developed a rash - all over his body and so bad that his face and lips were swollen. He also felt terrible with chills and fever.

On Friday, Craig put both of us in the car and took us to Redi-Care. I clearly had bronchitis. They'd little clue what was wrong with Sergei, but gave us both prescriptions and sent us home. I hoped for quick relief and didn't get it. Now - four days later, I feel a bit better. The coughing isn't much relieved, but at least I don't ache all over, and I can think. I'm weak....but not so much as I was. Happily Sergei is also recovered from the mystery disease.

It was fortunate that I was sick over a vacation, as there was no panic and anxiety over work. Craig was here to take care of the kids, though I think that meant McDonalds nearly every day, to my horror.

Even downplayed, Thanksgiving was a big trigger for Anastasia. I got in about ten intense minutes with her a day. One day it was her bouncing on the bed above me and telling me she hoped I'd die. I didn't care; it was all like a dream to me at the time. Mama being sick is a trigger, too. Someone else getting attention; her not getting it from mama.

Saturday I said, "I think Thanksgiving is a hard time for you." Her response in her most sarcastic tone - "Ya think? I'm supposed to be thankful?! For WHAT! I didn't want to be adopted! I want my real family!" Oh, yes - I was sitting downstairs watching TV with her. The non-stop "happy-family" commericals and imagery must be a hideous abrasive for so many people.

Sunday night I was feeling enough better to cope with a particularly intense exchange. I was actually well enough to insist that Craig go to the store and get something else [other than McDonalds] for dinner (despite the fact that perversely, I really craved the half of a fish sandwich that I'd had for a couple of nights straight). He took "orders" for various sorts of ramen, etc. Anastasia ignored it all. He left; he returned; boys ate. She said, "I want something to eat. I want McDonalds." I explained, reasonably, that we weren't having McDonalds again. Things accellerated. She was not happy. "You don't feed me! I want food! I want McDonalds!" This build-up took longer than I can really describe in quotations, because I was [stupidly] responding with logic and reason to the things she said....or only scratching a tiny bit below the surface, with the ever-futile "Why are you acting like this!?" Once she threw a book across the room. Once she stood over me menacingly. Once she demanded the scissors (which I had hidden), and finding them, began a little foray into cutting (which I pretty much ignored). Maybe because it was getting physical and maybe because I realized I didn't have enough energy to expend, I finally made a solid leap into therapeutic parenting the last time she yelled, "I want McDonald's", I yelled back (or at least responded with similar intensity), "You know you can't have McDonalds! But I don't think that's it! What else is it that you want but can't have!?!" She didn't miss a beat, but continued as if this had been the subject all the time, "I want my real parents! I don't want to be adopted! I was a quiet little girl in Russia! I was nice! Why did you adopt me!" and the real conversation began..... (followed, an hour or so later, by Anastasia, without ado, getting up and making herself a little meal from food in the kitchen).

I heard her, and let her know that I understand how painful it must be for her. Same conversation we have almost daily, slightly different words, another little coloration, maybe a bit more understanding of some little piece of it. Poor little dear.

But, it had me thinking. As I often do. Sometimes I wonder that more parents don't kill and injure their children. The uninitiated parent. The adoptive parent expecting a thankful child, or at the very least, an obedient and respectful child. A step-parent coming into a situation with a hurt and damaged child...... A foster parent thinking "This kid should be grateful!" It is so darned easy to look at the surface. I think therapeutic parenting all.the.time! I am not unintelligent; I have imagiation. Yet, Sunday night, even I initially saw: a little brat who wants McDonalds, and when told she can't have it, becomes a defiant, violent little jerk.

Anastasia didn't know it wasn't about McDonald's either. She was just expressing a huge, deep feeling that slid into the most "convenent" package to deliver itself. If you think it is about McDonalds, of course you will scoff and scorn and get angry and punish. Having her deepest feelings rejected (without really understanding that this was what she was expressing) she will be crazed when further shame is heaped on the searing pain she is already trying to unburden. Of course it is an emotional beating ready to happen - if not a physical one. It is hard to hear communication expressed in code. Especially in the bustle of homelife [especially when you are sick], it is hard to stop and realize - It is not about McDonalds.

LIGHT

2011-11-18T03:34:00.000-08:00

We're driving to the store, and Anastasia says "My jaw isn't hurting." As I've mentioned before she has an OCD issue with "tracing" things she sees with her teeth....sort of grinding her teeth together in the various outlines. Obviously, this means she is clinching her jaw all the time and for a couple of years (while I chased a psychiatrist) she complained of pain. That was the first little glimmer....I realized, the meds are kicking in!

And, sure enough, she went to the mall, and when I picked her up, and watched her walk toward the car, I noticed that her posture was different....willowy, not stiff. And, then, she wanted to show me something in the back yard - and she grabbed my hand. The only physical contact we've had in the past five months has been me hugging a cold, stone statue, or her aggressively bumping me "by accident". Here was her soft hand, grasping mine. What a hope-filled feeling!

She began to make eye-contact. She no longer said, "Go die" when passing me. Best of all, she got up one day and said, "Where's my math book?" and since then, has been assiduously studying Algebra.

It was truely like watching a girl made of ice, melt.....and a real girl appear. And with the "real" girl, there are feelings running through those veins. Instead of those angry, snide and snarky comments, there are sincere and painful questions: "I don't understand why everyone leaves me." One afternoon she called me on the phone, crying, "I miss him. I miss my real daddy." She has begun to dwell on her father, who did show her some true love (one piece of which was allowing her to be adopted, as he told me himself.) But, that is a hard bit for her to understand.

And, we have a therapist. Miss Julie is wonderful, and began therapy with Anastasia's "Life Story". I am learning a lot I didn't know, despite all her previous sharing and my previous questions. Until the medical expense account kicks in, in January, we can only afford [barely] an every-other-week visit, but I hope for some real progress soon.

Huge, huge mountains to climb. But, at least we're not still part of the glacier.

THANKS FOR THE HELP [NOT]

2011-11-11T03:47:00.000-08:00

Now, with a daughter who is very triggered by any display of sexuality - aren't I lucky to have had this billboard posted on our primary route to all the places we go? (Right as we get on the freeway.) And, if you can believe it - there is a similar one - except this time for a place called the "Wild Beaver Saloon" a block from our house on our route home! Come on people! And, as I expected the moment I laid eyes on this one - the first time Anastasia saw it she commented very matter of factly, "I could work there." And I did my best at "A" for "accepting" and commented back, "Well, I think you could find a job that paid more and had better benefits since you're so good at math." To my relief, that was the end of the conversation. Though I very much fear she tucked this convenient job opportunity away in the back of her mind.

And, then there is television. I saw the very pretty ads for the new Sunday night program "Once Upon A Time". I envisioned some lovely, high-production-value effort, geared to families, with the story and adventure for children and possibly some good acting and depth for adults. Was I ever disappointed!

If there had been a committee of evil men gathered in a smokey room imagining how best to trouble and disturb adopted children, they could not have done better. Adoption was a major theme of the piece....with a decidedly anti-adoption point of view. I was sitting open-mouthed. At one point the lovely heroine [teacher] says of a boy "He wants what all adopted children want." That is, of course - their "real" mother. Yes, indeedy - and if we might not understand that concept, it is clarified by making his adoptive mother a cold, hard person - and in the modern day/fairy tale parallel.....the adoptive mother is the wicked witch. I could hardly bear to sit there, frankly. But, I thought that the best hope was to possibly get some conversation out of it at some point. (We haven't yet.)

I'll also add that in every other way this trauma-pill disappointed - the production values were not as good as I'd hoped. The script, apart from its questionable ideas and complete lack of depth, also lacked any sort of sparkle and the acting was dreadful.....somehow fairy tale people with flat American diction are just jarring (I don't expect an accent, mind you - simply classic American stage speech)

A palate cleanser was needed, I thought, so we watched the program that I can always count on to be quality - Masterpiece Theatre. And, the program was well-acted, beautifully filmed, with a splendid script.....all about Russian whores. Yes, indeed. Can you believe my luck? Russian whores....a fact well noted by Anastasia, who seemed to feel not so alone. And that is painfully true. These girls were whores, but good Russian girls on some level. Oh, boy. At least they kept getting murdered, so I hope that was off-putting.

BAD MOMMY

2011-11-10T02:55:00.000-08:00

Sorry for this delinquent post. But, better late than never?

I got the "bad mommy" award this Halloween. Let's start with the fact that one of my busiest months at work is October, then add to that psyciatrists/therapists/a broken-down vehicle and a routine that thus requires me to drive about an hour and a half for both pick up and drop-off routines.....well, there you have it - not enough time to make cute, homemade costumes. So, Sunday night, the 30th, after a fourteen-hour work day, and a dinner I somehow don't remember (bet it was on the order of a can of mushroom soup mixed with a can of tuna), I hobbled out to the car with Zhen to go "get" his costume. For some reason his glee in picking a new costume each year is so intense, that I just couldn't do the reasonable thing and direct him to the costume boxes in the basement. For one thing, he actually plays with those costumes all year, on and off, so I can see how they don't have the excitement that a "Halloween Costume" should have.

At Meijers - "yahoo!" I thought - all Halloween stuff was 50% off. But, as it turned out there was nothing there. Really - nothing.

On we went to Target. The Halloween stuff was in the far back corner. As we are hitting the point where we could just see it in the distance, over the intercom I hear "The store will be closing in five minutes."

I gave Zhen a little push ' "Run!" And, I'll say this - Zhen is a power shopper. He picked these items [no 50% off, unfortunately] within the five minutes and we scurried up to the check-out in the nick of time.

And, I didn't even have to mention expense. I was delighted that Zhen seemed to be shopping to a budget.

The big boys, not wanting to appear to "care" (boy,its hard to be a teenager) did grab old costume bits and the three of them went out with a neighbor boy trick-or-treating in our own neighborhood.

Tradition has long been for us to go to one of my friends' houses and, after a pizza dinner, for she and I to walk the kids around her (more extensively savory) neighborhood. Too bad for me. I guess we've come to the point in Halloween where the parents are no longer necessary. Oh - not so fast. I was necessary! I needed to drive Anastasia to a bonfire party in Okemos - the furthest city that could be considered not actually out in the country. After that I went alone to my friend's house. Her daughter, meanwhile, a diligent high school student (very unlike my own) was not trick-or-treating, or even handing out treats.....but working on a paper. So, Marianne and I did our usual thing, and went to some other friends' house for coffee, pumpkin bread and apples, and conversation......before I had to drive all the way back to Okemos to pick up Anastasia.

What I saved on the costume, I think, I expended in gas money. But, I graduated sort-of painlessly to the next level of being a Halloween parent. (Does make me consider foster care,though - life is just so much more fun with little kids.)

OUR KITCHEN

2011-11-07T03:31:00.000-08:00

Just a little anecdote I don't want to forget.

Zhen and I were watching Iron Chef, and there was a commercial referring to your kitchen being the best place in your house. Our kitchen is terrible. Terrible. So I asked Zhen, "What is the best room in our house?" He said, "The living room - or Sergei's room." (Sergei's room is a perfect boy-cave.)

I said, "Yes; our kitchen is not a very nice room." And after a moment, he said sort of wistfully, "A lot of amazing things come out of there, though."

I'm not that good a cook - or I should say dedicated a cook - so I was really touched.

Later in the evening he said, "You'll have to give my wife your sloppy joe recipe. Or, maybe you could just keep making them for me forever."

To Mother You

2011-10-31T14:53:00.000-07:00

I honestly cannot imagine how I never heard this song. It is the lullaby for the older adopted child. Don't watch the video, but play the music (below) and read the lyrics.

This is to mother you
To comfort you and get you through
Through when your nights are lonely
Through when your dreams are only blue
This is to mother you

This is to be with you
To hold you and to kiss you too
For when you need me I will do
What your own mother didn't do
Which is to mother you

All the pain that you have known
All the violence in your soul
All the 'wrong' things you have done
I will take from you when I come
All mistakes made in distress
All your unhappiness
I will take away with my kiss, yes
I will give you tenderness

For child I am so glad I've found you
Although my arms have always been around you
Sweet bird although you did not see me
I saw you

And I'm here to mother you
To comfort you and get you through
Through when your nights are lonely
Through when your dreams are only blue
This is to mother you

AN INTERESTING MEAL

2011-10-29T15:50:00.000-07:00

Earlier this week I made a meatloaf. I have been trying to plan ahead and make simple, healthy meals. For some reason I hadn't made a meat loaf since Ilya has been with us.

Whether it was the beans from the night before, or some other reason, both Ilya and I had some indigestion issues. He confided in me his concerns about my cooking: "Mom, I don't think you should cook that wolf any more."

Apparently "meatloaf" and "meat - wolf" sound similar.

I think people need to take any comments about my cooking with a grain of salt! No bush meat here, no matter what the kids tell you!

TRAUMA MAMA

2011-10-27T14:27:00.000-07:00

Trauma Mama.

At first this nomenclature struck me as odd. But I understand it now.

Why would you identify yourself with this most difficult part of your life?

Because you want to find others like yourself.....people who will understand, not judge, know the "lingo". (Funny that most of you - certainly you beloved friends who commented so supportively on my last post - could identify "Dan Hughes" or "Heather Forbes" or "Nancy Thomas" - while the psychiatrist looked at me blankly.) We are specialists, with our area of expertise, and we can and need to communicate with one another about issues that no one around us can understand. Especially because it is those issues that seem to sometimes cut us off from others.

But, why would you be flip about something that threatens not only the soul and future of a person you love, but everyone in your family, the family unit itself, your financial stability, your relationships, your worklife, even your marriage and your sanity? Because laughter and lightness is what keeps you going, that's why! If I couldn't distance myself enough to see the funny side of all of this, to be a tiny bit disrespectful of it all - I might go crazy. In truth. Or do something rash.

I'm with Heather Forbes, "Love Never Fails" - but I think it needs the able assistance of humor. Here's a thesis or dissertation topic for someone -- "Correlation Between Parental Sense of Humor on the Rate of Adoption Disruption Among Attachment Disordered Children".

But, along with humor I think you have to have a circle of people who understand. Thank heaven, thank heaven for you.

A little update:

As things have gotten worse and worse with Miss A. I got more and more determined to get some improvement going. It finally came to my attention that Anastasia will not talk to men. Hence the failures with Billy Kaplan, brilliant Chicago therapist, and Kurt Ellis, gifted attachment therapist in Grand Rapids. Both were amazing, and both helped me, but she wouldn't give them the time of day. So Kurt suggested the Attachment Coalition in Livonia. All women. Wonders have not ceased since I called them. The one who specializes in teens just got a couple of openings. Craig and I go see her tomorrow. And she agreed that it sounded as though Anastasia needed some medication and she recommended a female psychiatrist. Remember the months I waited before being able to see the last psychiatrist? Well, this one had a cancellation today. It took some physical restraints and intercession of the Saints, but we did get her in the car and to this woman, and though she promised she wouldn't talk, she did talk.

We have a diagnosis - PTSD - and we have meds, the prescription being filled at the pharmacy even as I write this. So, I am feeling optimistic.

Granted, the finances have taken quite a hit, since our stellar insurance plan does not cover mental health, but barely (only a psychiatrist and then only 50%). But, it's worth it! I've already tried the dried bean approach to meal planning. It is not going all that well, in fact even I am having some gastrointestinal issues, but I am sure we'll get used to it. And the entire family will benefit from improvement in its most troubled member. As Anastasia herself put it so aptly, "If I'm not happy, nobody's happy." Too true.

IN THE MUCK

2011-10-23T13:59:00.000-07:00

You never stand so tall as when you stoop to help a child.

So why do I feel as though I have been groveling in the mud?

A couple of weeks ago I experienced a humiliation so rich and deep that it's taken me this long to show my head.

Why not write about other stuff? Why not just never mention it?

One can control pretty well what you reveal on a blog. But that doesn't work for me, because this blog is all about being honest, and sharing things that I might not be able to share with people I know from church or whatever. I admit, there are huge bits I've failed to tell you - but only for lack of time. Not to hide anything. Not anything that is reflective of who I am, who I appear to others, what matters to me.

That little quote at the top is part of the "signature" on our Russian teacher's e-mail - well, hers and her husband's. A couple of weeks ago I got an e-mail from them, for all intents and purposes telling me that my family was not welcome at the fundraiser they were giving for a family in their church.

This family is going to adopt Oleg. I am so, so happy for him and them. I'm glad to have sewn a stitch or two in that beautiful tapestry. But, whenever I think of it, I expect I'll always feel a sinking shame due to this subsequent event. Perhaps it is good for me to experience shame, as Anastasia feels so much of it.

So, what precipitated this? At the last "Russian Culture" event, Yolka (the Christmas party) all the boys planned to come. But Sergei was bringing his girlfriend as well, and though Rebecca got as far as our house, she got ill at the last minute and Sergei had to stay with her. Ilya and Zhenya came, but in the end, without Sergei there to give him strength, Ilya couldn't bring himself to enter the hall. Zhen was too shy (and loyal) to come in without Ilya.....so they sat in the vestibule. I kept going out to encourage them, but whenever I went out there, Ilya just sat there and wouldn't budge. Obviously it looked anti-social and defiant. But it isn't. Ilya has such a desire to go places,but sometimes a fear just freezes him at the last minute. He is almost agoraphobic. I did everything I could to get them to come in and eat, at least. But the room full of people was too much for him. Nothing could move Ilya, and Zhen was not coming in alone. If I hadn't brought Anastasia, with her friend, I would have just put them all in the car and left. But I was stuck.

I didn't realize this, but at some point Ilya must have smoked. I cannot really believe he smoked in the building, but perhaps outside....and there was probably no facility for it. The Russian teacher's husband suggested that he smoked all night and made a big mess. But I have a hard time believing that because every time I stepped out to check on them (frequently) - there he sat. Among all those Russian men, I wouldn't be surprised if a few went out to smoke. Apparently, there was some mess somewhere - and Ilya may have made at least part it. Or, even all of it.

Result: they did not want my "boys" at last night's event. Moreover - they "didn't need" anyone to see Anastasia being rude to adults.

They weren't referring to any behavior of hers at the Yolka, where she was very appropriate but they did see her behave badly at the park when we had Russian School picnics this summer. I won't deny it. In fact, I described it here. And, looking back at that post, I can see that no one responded much, so perhaps that is because all of you recoiled in horror at her behavior as well.

I understand completely why these people don't want my children at their fundraiser. I do. They want only appealing, well-behaved and talented Russian children. Of course! And maybe that is why I feel so absolutely low about it all.

My beloved children and are I socially unacceptable.
I am pretty sure they blame me, or the directive would have been delivered with a little bit of sorrow and compassion.

I cannot begin to tell you how humiliating and painful it is. And, I feel so, so sorry for Zhenya and Sergei who are the loveliest people, the most well-behaved children, and are yet tarred with the same brush.

If I could feel "wronged" it would be different. But, I can't. They weren't wronging me. They called it as they see it. If I didn't know the truth of the situation - I'd agree with them! If all I had to go on was appearance, I'd think that Mrs. Kitching was a pretty poor mother and her kids would have been better off in Russia!

You don't necessarily stand tall when you stoop to help a child. You sometimes get dragged right down into the dirt, if the child's problems are stronger than your ability to help them.

Oh, I am still hopeful. New counselor, new plan and all.

But for now I feel sad - both because I've lost this group of in-real-life friends and maybe more because I have a new vision of how I appear to people.

I can't fathom facing this group again, the adoptive parents with healthy children. I'll just slink away in shame. I felt like doing that here as well. Somehow I guess it is only fair and honest to let you all know that the people who know me and my children in person, wish they didn't.

SCHOOL CONFERENCES

2011-10-12T03:40:00.000-07:00

Last night I went to conferences at Grand Ledge High School. Was I ever impressed! I have gone to conferences at three other high schools over the years and a couple of middle schools, and I am once again confirmed that the gas money [and time] is well spent.

Ten teachers, two boys who are not stellar students. Ten positive experiences. Every single teacher I spoke with made me feel that my boys were special. I could say, "I'm Sergei's mom," (even when I popped over to a teacher's table simply because there was an opening, not because it was my scheduled time) - never was there a flicker of non-recognition, never a look of confusion for a moment. And, immediately, and quite naturally, each teacher would begin to tell me what they liked about my boys. Now, I know you are thinking - they recognize the Russian name... Maybe. But, I can assure you that would not have been enough at East Lansing High School, or Eastern High School in Lansing. I suppose it is not the teachers' fault so much as it just being too large a school. I guess.

I'll never forget the first high school conference I attended, when Aidan began at East Lansing. I had prepared my list of questions for the teachers - Did he participate? Did he seem comfortable with the other students? Does it seem he has the appropriate background (remember he'd first been at Montessori, then homeschooled). Was he mastering the material? Did he appear to be interested and motivated? Well, that little list was soon crumpled and tossed in the trash can. The only way any of his teachers could begin to get an image of who he was, was to match his name to their seating chart. One teacher continued to refer to "Adam" . OK. No wonder the "conference," such as it was, focused on their little print-outs of grades and assignments turned in. It was like thinking you were going to walk into a greenhouse and instead being transported to a cold, dark basement. And, for the four years Aidan was at East Lansing, and the one year Lydia was there, that feeling continued. When he got older, in his junior and senior year, he was "taken up" by one of the math teachers who encouraged him to be on the lacrosse team. So, he was no longer anonymous there. But that was about it. A few teachers over the years recognized him as the one who sat in the front and was so polite. Aidan had all the hallmarks of being a first-rate student without actually being one, which confused them mightily. They rememberd him for that A+ demeanor, and then were confused (even to the point of admitting they might have lost certain papers or assignments) when they saw some blank spots in the gradebook.

None of that last night. And even more impressive was the attitude that permeated the place: we are here to do whatever it takes to make sure every child succeeds. Every greeting, every expression said "I am glad to meet you; you and your child are important." And there was not one teacher there who I could easily see walking out of the building complaining about having had to spend their night at conferences. Every teacher seemed to love teaching and love their students and expect a positive, wholesome partnership with parents. Honestly, as parents don't we always go to conferences thinking "I want to find teachers that have faith in my kids." Well, in this case I really felt like the teachers were hoping the same thing from the parents! It was lovely. And it was real. It was not printed on posters on the wall. It was imprinted in their expressions and in everything they said.

And so honest! I couldn't help but adore the teacher who admitted that she was kicking herself for making Ilya get up in front of the class to do a speech on Thurgood Marshall, not thinking in time that she should have offered him the chance to do it just for her. And, her delight that he did it, and did it pretty well, was so evident. She even related details about the classroom atmosphere as he gave it, how encouraging the other students were, how one girl hid her face because she was so embarrassed and worried for him and didn't want him to see it. This is what I want from a conference!

Now, mind you - this was not because my boys are stellar students. Sergei has a big, fat F in Geometry right now. He must, by some alchemy, have inherited the Kitching math aptitude. But the teacher was not interested in shaming me, or being disappointed in him - only in finding ways that he might actually learn the stuff and feel good about himself.

And, this is why - I am pretty sure - Sergei said to me the other day "You know mom, I think my self-esteem is going up." I think it is, too.

THE ENGLISH BOOK

2011-10-11T03:42:00.000-07:00

I have a new career in mind. I want to write English books for Koreans, because I have to tell you, some of the ones they have are so bad they are laughable. When teaching the adults not a day goes by that I have to "correct" the textbook.

Today I had to tell my student to just skip part of the lesson. It was nonsense. Usully I teach adults but this student is a ten year old girl. Child or not, she is smart enough to wonder about this idea:

Heavy rains kill many people.

Storms destroy our homes.

When we keep nature clean

it gives us many good things.

Huh?

I had to have her take out a pencil and cross out part of this sentence:

We eat apples, bananas and vegetables ~~of nature~~.

And lest we think such odd sentences are in an effort to clearly define the words, I'll share a definition or two from the previous page in this chapter called "Nature Force" (a typical American concept).

made from fibers of a particular plant (I'm sure we'd all know right off - cotton!)

a piece of cloth of unique design (that is how I always think of a flag)

Anyway, I just have to share today's lesson, as it is so inspirational:

We live with many animals in this world.

Some kill elephants for ivory.

They also kill foxes for fur.

People destroy forests and make new cities there.

Many animals lose their homes.

We make a peaceful world for animals.

We are good friends with animals.

Right. Let's discuss that, shall we!

OVER THE YEARS, ANASTASIA

2011-10-10T14:18:00.000-07:00

Here's my girl, from first grade until last year......

The first two years she was a bit of a tantrum-thrower, regular basis, but a fun girl most of the time. She was vastly prettier than she appears in these photos.

Then for two years an occasional tantrum-thrower.. October (birthday) through mid-January (holidays) was hard...but she was full of sweetness, interest, loved her Russian friends, loved her dolls, loved to draw and craft.

Fifth grade, a diligent student, an affectionate, dear girl, only occasionally dysregulated.

Sixth grade, suddenly the weather changed. She feels compelled to grow up, but she doesn't want to. She feels desperate for a boyfriend, who she doesn't want to be with in person. She thinks about sex all the time, and hates herself for it. She is a ball of shame inside, defiant outside. She is troubled by compulsions (to mentally trace words with her teeth, to look at herself in mirrors); she is overflowing with stress and anger, except at school. At school things are peaceful and safe....until December...when Mrs. Allen left. And the rest is history.

What photo would we, will we get this year?

WHEREIN I RATTLE ON WITH CRAZY TALK

2011-10-06T04:02:00.000-07:00

Sergei is doing some Physical Therapy now to assist with some back pain. One day last week, after a stressful day at work, then running out to get Zhen from school, taking him home, picking up Sergei and racing to PT (you get the idea) I found myself feeling very self-conscious. In my little office all day, I'd been unpacking and organizing textbooks, and not seen many people. But, now in the public eye, I realized that my clothes were a bad mix of fall and summer (should I really be wearing sandals with this skirt?) Worse yet, it was suddenly really cold and for some reason that morning I'd been unable to find anything like a heavy sweater or light jacket....and as it was absolutely time to go! I'd grabbed my dad's old quilted jacket (why was it even on the coat rack?) as I raced out the door to get kids from school. My office is quite chilly, so I had to take something. And then , worst of all was my hair - working against the clock to get the Religous Ed program up, with no time for the hairdresser, I was only too aware that a color and cut had been due at least a week previous. Basically, I felt a complete mess, and as I so often do, was desperately hoping I wouldn't see anyone I knew. Since I work for a big parish and have children of all ages, going out and not seeing someone I know in East Lansing, is a rarity.

At that point, a couple swept past me, chattering happily. The man was looking down into his wife's face with warm brown eyes full of laughter; she was holding their baby - a child who looked to be about 18 months old - and she was in the midst of telling him something in a foreign language - my guess was that it was about something the child had done - there was so much affection both in his look and her voice. This was the university Clinic, so there was no surprise at all in hearing the foreign language - but this was the first time I'd ever actually seen someone close up, in a burka. And in every way, at that moment, my preconceived ideas about it were shattered.

First thought - I always presumed a woman would wear a burka because it was required by her cold, demanding husband who considered her his property. I even imagined a much older man, not this attractive and friendly young guy. And, clearly this husband and wife had a close and warm relationship.

Second thought - A burka would make you feel conspicuous, at least in this country. NO! At that moment, actually even before I began to notice the couple's relationship - what I thought was how relieved I'd be if I could be wearing a burka! I envied her with every fiber. To just be there. Not worrying about how you look, being judged "unattractive". No guilty anxiety about not "keeping up appearances", of being found "odd looking" "inappropriate" "disheveled". Everything in me cried out "Give me the burka!"

Third thought - in this country women are always judged by appearance. Hair, figure, clothing, shoes, makeup. I'm really sick of it. Wouldn't it be interesting to be judged by what you say and do???

And when I saw how happy this woman was, evident by her quick and light step, and her smiling eyes - well, I envied that, too. Her husband came with her to the doctor's office! She didn't even have to drive!!!!!

And, what about driving? That seems like quite a mixed blessing to me. There was one week, when I was driving so much that my legs ached miserably and non-stop from sitting in the car with no time for even a quick walk. (Well, that week, if I wasn't in my car I was at my desk revising lesson plans. Sometimes I'd kneel at my desk, or stand, hunched over, just to change the quality of the ache a bit.) Those women in Saudi Arabia might have a chat with me before they agitate for this "privilege" too loudly, or like me, they'll be running themselves ragged every waking moment, a slave to their automobiles and all the possibilities they allow.

In a conversation about the Sabbath a few weeks ago, I actually found myself arguing that housework certainly should be appropriate activity for the sabbath, if it was the thing you never got to do, and longed to do. So, you can see where I'm at - actually longing for a Sabbath of housework, since my Sabbath (and every other day the last few weeks) is filled with churchwork and driving, and an infinite number of trips to the store. I was at the store last night at bedtime...and I am just hearing Craig, at 6:45 a.m. say "There is no milk!" Criminey. There was milk left last night after dinner!

Where is the milkman when you need him? They have milk delivery in England! And in Saudi Arabia the women have their day free to go to the market. What the heck is with this country?

A MEAL OF LEFTOVERS

2011-10-03T08:22:00.000-07:00

I've a few photos in my camera that I took with the idea of perhaps using them in a post. I figure I'll throw them in here and catch up a bit.

We went to Cedar Point on the last possible day before school started. Nothing like cutting it close, but I like to use it as ~~something to hang over their heads~~ a motivator during the summer. This was not the best trip. I had told myself previously that I wouldn't go again without a young child to go on rides with. I wish I'd listened to myself!....or at least made Craig come. I really do not like roller coasters. They do nothing for me - but that is THE reason the boys go and Nastia is fine with it.

Last year Lydia was with us, and we all went around together, and while I was mainly the pack animal, I did enjoy watching the kids go on rides and I went on two or three myself. This photo is of Zhenya and Anastasia trying to convince me that they should be allowed to go off on their own, as the big boys had already
done. I let them. But then I felt very sorry for myself. I noticed other likewise, child-less parents but they had been smart enough to come along with their spouse for the most part, or a friend. Only one or two other pathetic and lonely-looking souls were to be seen. (You can tell I spent the day people-watching.) I felt silly going on any rides alone. I did meet up withe these two at a couple of points - first, to share an elephant ear, and second to ride the ferris wheel.

Another year, I think I'll wander the city, or spend the day somewhere with a book. That was one heck of a lot of money to pay for a day of people-watching and one ferris wheel ride.

I snapped this photo of Ilya sitting on the back porch (OK - back stoop) just to prove he is still alive, I guess. He has not gotten past his hatred of having his photo taken. I don't get that.

I see Rosie's tail. He was probably hoping to catch Posey using the back yard for the right purposes.

This silly photo is just to remind me of this little "thing" Craig and I do. Rather than spend money on a movie, or go out to eat for a "date night" we go up and sit on the bed and watch a 48 Hours Mystery on my laptop.

The comforter, by the way, is not really my taste....but I brought it back from Ivanovo, and anything from Ivanovo is beautiful to me.

Lydia's godmother's daughter got married last weekend, and Lydia came on a flying visit to attend the wedding with me. She brought her wonderful gentleman friend, Vance, as well. Vance is a darling. He is so nice, so good to Lydia and to all of us. While Lydia and I were at the wedding he led the boys in a "landscaping" and "home-improvement" session - trimming hedges, and fixing the knob on the side door. What a dear. Then he bought the boys a new x-box game and played with them. The night before Lydia treated all of us to dinner at Bravo.

The wedding was in St. Joseph, MI. We had a couple of hours between the wedding and the reception and among other things we rode this really cool carousel which was down by the beach in the same building as the reception hall.

The timing of the wedding was not so good for me, because it was the night before the big opening of Religious Education classes. I had to spend the entire day from 5 a.m. on at church. Lydia took the kids to Uncle Johns, our local cider mill. The weather was perfect for it.

Anastasia did have some struggles with this visit. New people, emotions about family; Lydia having to leave....thus causing abandonment feelings to come to the surface...yes; it was a challenge, but Anastasia worked hard to control herself, and it wasn't the catastrophe it might have been. It was touch and go there for a moment, though. Lydia was really a good sister through it all.

ZHEN'S SCHOOL

2011-10-01T05:15:00.000-07:00

This is Zhenya waiting to be let into school. He is attending Grace Christian School, which is really a one-room school taught by Anastasia's wonderful teacher from last year (and the year before), Mrs. Allen....who was summarily dismissed from Summit because the word got out that she and her husband were planning this enterprise. (It is actuallly a two-room school because he teaches HS on one side of a divider).

Mrs. Allen is, without a doubt, the best teacher I have ever run across. She is so focused on the children's individual progress and learning. There is no wasted time, no homework assignments that make you pull out your hair because they suck up family time with busywork. She understands teaching's "best practices" and follows them. Homework is corrections. Research has shown again and again that one of the best ways to learn is to correct your mistakes. She also requires tons of reading. This is amazing, but I already see distinct improvement in Zhenya's reading and spelling. Plus, she knows the secrets of motivation! I've never, ever, seen Zhenya make the effort to study without coersion from me. On his own he studies for Mrs. Allen. One interesting feature of this school is that it is 90% AA. Zhen is one of two white children in the elementary, but I kind of like that. These are the nicest families! Sometimes we've not seen the best aspects of the AA "community" on our end of town.

Lest Mrs. Allen's classes sound so focused on academic progress that there is no experiential learning, let me tell you that she (and Mr. Allen) excell in that,as well. The second week of school they took the entire student body on an overnight camping trip to the Sand Dunes. Long-time readers will recall my discomfiture at Anastasia's class going to Washington DC, something she was not ready for. But, this year the group is going to go to Florida and Disney World, and that is just the perfect thing for Zhenya! She has the trip threading throughout the year as a focus for learning and a motivator. (They earn "Bonus Bucks" in many ways - behavior, academics and more - which help them "earn" their trip.) There will undoubtedly be some real fund-raising going on, too.....

The church is in a part of town called "Old Town" which is becoming a sort of "artists'" area. It is on the third floor of a church which was previously First Presbyterian, and now "The Epicenter of Worship". I have to say that name makes me giggle inside; I guess it is just the contrast between it's drama and the solemn names of the churches I've attended - St. Thomas Aquinas, Resurrection, Our Lady of Sorrows, etc. A few times I've chatted with people at the church and I have never run across kinder, warmer - yes, more Christian people. For example, I came in with a box of books one day and before I could even focus on how much I did not want to carry it up three flights, a zealous young man came down from a ladder where he was painting, grabbed the box from me and headed up to the classroom. What kindness! If that happened at my church, I really think that the onlooker would be friendly, "Got a heavy load there, eh?" or even, "Why don't the custodians do that?" but I can't see too many folks helping.

The surrounding area is very mixed; they can actually walk to the Capital. This week they walked to the Historical Museum for the afternoon. The "mixed" aspect is why the doors are always kept locked. And since the school is on the third floor, there is usually a wait before someone comes down to let the kids in. I feel like volunteering to watch the door from 7:30 - 8 and let everyone in. Someone needs to.

THE END OF THE RAINBOW

2011-09-28T06:13:00.000-07:00

And What We Found There.....*

For over a year I have tried to find a psychiatrist for Anastasia. I am fully aware that years of talk therapy are undoubtedly in her future, but to make that happen, and to get her through some of the challenges of the teen years, I also have the feeling that she could use something to help her calm down enough to think. Something to take the edge off her fear and panic, so that she can see them for what they are. Something to quiet the urge to put out all the prickles (consisting of nasty expression, snide remarks, cruel comments, aggressive and angry gestures and actions) so that she has some hope of not making every person she meets detest her. She's realized that she does this to control the situation - if she can MAKE everyone dislike her, then she doesn't have to worry they'll decide to so on their own - and based on who she really is. But she can't control herself.

But finding a psychiatrist to see her amidst all those who don't see children or don't see teens, or aren't taking new patients, took getting the assistance of our pediatrician and waiting this long......

So - you can imagine, can't you, the hope we placed in this?

So far, Anastasia has not gone to school. I fully intended to enroll her for the K12 on-line school that was adopted as an option this year in Michigan. I could write an entire post about that - long story short, we fell between the cracks and she didn't get in. So, she really needs to be able to be with at least a small group of people. I kept thinking - when we get some medication, we'll see how she does and then decide on a school setting....

But....

The long-awaited psychiatrist appointment was a complete bust. It was (as my boys would say) LAME. I think we had an intern; he was impossibly young. And he didn't seem to even resonate or connect with the idea of RAD. Everything I said about it seemed to flow over his head like water off a duck's back. Do you know how you can sometimes get a sense of what someone is thinking? Well, from the first moment I mentioned RAD, I had the distinct sensation that he was finding me laughable. I think he saw me as a stupid woman who grabbed onto some cockeyed idea, got a little knowledge and is now running around being a blowhard about it. And, the moment I sensed that's what he thought, that is exactly how I sounded to myself - like a complete ignoramus.

I also just knew that from that moment he saw Anastasia as simply a "difficult teen" and me an incompetent mother.

She didn't help things....and it is so sad, because she was trying to. She is scared of herself. She desperately wants to feel more stable - to be able to go to school. So,to that end, she started acting out in a way totally unlike herself.. When sitting in the hall, she texted me every other moment. She pushed her chair up against the door and made noise. Now, this is ridiculous. This is not Anastasia - this is Anastasia's idea of looking crazy. [How ironic is that?] Because I was surprised and suddenly dealing with new and totally unexpected behavior, I ignored it, which I am sure looked incompetent. I expect he figured if I didn't have the good sense to a) not let a child like that have a phone, or b) turn my own phone off, that I was a boob beyond believing.

So, due to her efforts to get help, he was completely distracted from the help she needs and saw only that I have a disrespectful, attention-seeking, out-of control, teenager.

He suggested parenting classes. WHILE she was sitting next to me. That gave me more credibility!
To my despairing cry that she can't go to school, because being around other people, especially kids, causes her to get so dysregulated she is violent.....(to say nothing about not being able to think or learn).... His response was literally a shrug - "Well the school would deal with it and put her into some specialized program, or the police would be called, and they can help." The POLICE can help???!!!! What universe is he living in? Well, maybe I could put her in a RTC, he suggested. Like that is a great idea!

Because of her clearly contrived and planned behaviors, she distracted him from what is really going on. If only I'd been able to realize this consciously at the time, I would have articulated it, and perhaps save the day ( doubt it, but who knows?) But, I didn't really understand what was going on until much later.

It would be funny and laughable, except we'd rested so much hope on this!!!! I had fully expected that he'd prescribe some sort of light medication that would reduce her anxiety a bit, and make it feasible for her to go to school. OR, he'd write her a diagnosis, or "official opinion" or something that would make the school district have to send a tutor, or provide on-line school for her.

I did not expect him to happily lay out a future scenario involving expulsion and the police.

I was so upset at that, that I started crying.....at which point he suggested that maybe she could go live with another family for awhile. Damn the man! Just what Anastasia needed to hear. And, he wasn't even attuned enough to understand that it was HIM who was reducing me to tears, not HER.

Thanks for nothing. Well, something. When I sobbed that we couldn't afford weekly therapy, he must have listened to that. This appointment that was supposed to cost us $245, only required a $15 co-pay.

*Apologies to those who read much of this as a post on the Parenting in SPACE facebook site.

GO COMETS!

2011-09-22T05:57:00.000-07:00

Warning: non-literary, newsy post.

We only found out mid-August that Summit was not going to be in operation this year. On the off-chance, though, I had tried to apply for "Schools-of-Choice" status to all of the local school districts that seemed a good fit for us (i.e. smallish, conservative, good reputation, close)*. Most were not taking students in one or another of the childrens' grades. Or, they were not open at all, or I'd just mssed the deadline. I ended up applying to three of them, and got rejection letters from two (the two nearer my work). It is an odd phenomenon, but over the years, it has seemed that while our house is in the south part of Lansing, we actually live in East Lansing. The people we know are over there, the places we shop are there....it is really "home". Summit was over there. My mom lives there.

Anyway, those districts (East Lansing, Haslett, Okemos) didn't work out. The one that did (Holt) is contiguous to us on the south side, and the HS is about fifteen minutes away, just on city streets. It is a fair district. It was a relief to get in. I enrolled everyone (everyone except Zhen - more on that another time). But, it was actually an exercise in frustration - I wouldn't have just the right papers (for example, they require proof of residence, and wanted a utility bill - well, I pay on-lne, so didn't have that; they wanted tax papers; I coudn't find them. I thought my Voter's ID card would work. No. Or a letter from my insurance company. No. And, for some reason Ilya's immunization records were not acceptable.... It was hugely frustrating.....and after several trips down there, the kids were still not enrolled.)

Meanwhile, Sergei was agitating about Grand Ledge. Several people he knew from Summit were going to Grand Ledge. I pointed out that they lived over there! Grand Ledge is a small town to the west of Lansing - not a suburb (like Holt, where we were enrolling), but actually a different town. His friends, at least, lived in west Lansing! But, because of his enthusiasm I did look - and they were not accepting schools-of-choice students. Case closed. Or, so I thought.

Then about a week before school started Sergei found out from one of these friends, that Grand Ledge takes tuition students. Right. Just what I thought - but the tuition? One dollar per child, per year. So, I jumped through all the hoops to enroll them (which actually was much, much easier than enrolling them in Holt.) So far, so good. At least as far as school is concerned. Sergei is very happy. They had just decided to put together an ESL classroom for Ilya and about four Exchange Students, so that worked out great. The only downside at this point is the time - when I take them it is an hour or more from our door to my office - and the gas - about $10 a day.....

However, everyone is hugely friendly; the teachers seem to communicate pretty well. The one exception was a requirement for me to sign a sheet that I'd read the syllabus for a computer class. I said to Sergei, "Where is the syllabus?" He said, "I didn't get one." I wrote on the form that I promised to read the syllabus when I got it (he was mortified). But, he came back with a message - Oh, that's OK; she didn't hand out a syllabus! What? She also doesn't seem to know much about computers. I bet this was a last-moment assignment for this poor woman. Anyway, that's the only glitch so far. Sergei and Ilya accounted for. Wish us luck.

More on Anastasia and Zhenya to come.

*Lansing Public Schools, our district, has abysmal test scores, and the ambiance in the schools is not what I'd hope for. You would also think - if you either try to contact them by phone, or use their website - that they deliberately set out to discourage enrollment. It is a weird place. But, due to a fluke, Lydia did attend her final semester at Eastern High School - and ended up getting her diploma from there!. It is nothing I'd turn to, however, unless desperate....

AREN'T WE LUCKY?

2011-09-20T02:58:00.000-07:00

One morning a couple of weeks ago I was awakened in the pitch dark by Ilya "Mom! Come downstairs! Mom!" So, I hobbled out of bed and down the stairs bleary-eyed at 3 a.m.

This is what greeted me - and Ilya crying out, "Look what I found!" This poor little "teenaged" dog was emaciated, and had dreadful imprints around her neck and legs from either rope or a haltar of some sort. Her hair had been worn away and discolored and under one leg there was a sore where the rope had been too tight. On the top of her head was a round open sore. The parish secretary took one look at it later and said, "Fr. Joe's dog had that same thing when he adopted her." "What is it?" I asked. "Cigarette burns."

Ilya, who wanders the neighborhood, always aware of his surroundings, knew where she was from. A "bad" house. Of course I suggested that we needed to return her, thinking that I didn't want some guy (from a "bad" house) showing up in a drug-enhanced rage, accusing us of stealing his dog. But, Ilya assured me that the house was empty and had been for some time. That fact, and the obvious signs of being tied up made me wonder later if Ilya hadn't perhaps gone on a middle-of-the-night rescue operation. If he did, I'm proud of him.

Everyone (including Craig) took one look at her and it was understood that the Lord had provided us with a dog. Of course, I fell in love with this needy little face. And - I've never imagined a dog could be so appreciative! She so obviously tries to show us how glad she is that we are good to her. It is amazingly touching. Her eyes express such gratitude.

Now, taking her on is no small thing. Being tied outside for her life, she is not potty trained. She chews. She is another pit bull, further besmirching our reputation with passers-by. She eats like a horse. I've always contended, and it is no joke, that taking on a puppy is far, far harder than taking on a child. I'd more gladly take on another child, to be absolutely honest. But, "Posey"* as I think of her, seems to be very fond of me. Maybe everyone else thinks she is especially fond of them, too.....but that does make it easier for me to get up to a mess many mornings.

Her "puppiness" is endearing, too. The desire she has for cuddling - especially at night (though I wish very much she was about a quarter of her size, and wonder why God doesn't bless us with someone's neglected pocket poodle for a change.... This is our second pit bull "rescue" - Rosie came to us under similar circumstances.)

Both of these dogs are sweethearts. They are ernest and try so hard to please, and to figure out what we're telling them, But (shhh, don't say this out loud) Posey is a lot smarter than Rosie. One big reason I was glad to keep Posey is because she will walk on a leash! One would expect this to be a basic dog skill, but , perhaps because of earlier abuse, Rosie absolutely will not walk on a leash. I totally gave up trying.....even with the help of a dog trainer, we couldn't manage it. Even the trainer was flumoxed. I am sure the trainer would have eventually mastered, it, but I didn't have the determination. Taking Rosie out for a walk is like setting out to have a wrestling match with the leash; ridiculous and embarrassing! Posey just trots along happily beside you, not even pulling or being in any way annoying. It is lovely. Posey has other basic dog skills down, too. She can play fetch. Rosie can "go get:" but once gotten she won't give whatever it is up again - end of game. Posey can catch balls. I think Rosie does not have the eyesight for this basicdog/human interaction. So, Posey plays with us - and she also plays with Rosie, which is a delight to see. Rosie loves it and - well, she just has a big smile on her face when Posey is around. Dogs do smile - especially these two. A lot.

And that is worth cleaning up a lot of stuff. I suppose adopting another pit bull is a good deed in rotten world, and worth it. Most of the time.

* The kids think her name is "Lucy", but I am not buying it.

SO SAD.....

2011-09-16T03:37:00.000-07:00

I took this photograph of my classroom in Summit in August sometime. I went in [finally!] to sort things out and clean up from the last school year....hoping very much that I might be back.....

But, to my sorrow, the school had to close.

I had so many happy hours in this room. I adored my students and I think of them often, with great fondness. I know where some of them are, but wonder about others.

The school had "issues" to say the least. But my middle schoolers got a good education from me, I think. It was too much, and overwhelming to have taught three classes there while keeping up all the work at my real job. I undoubtedly didn't do nearly as well with the classes as I would have done had I had more time to devote to it.....I didn't communicate with parents enough, or get papers back quickly enough. But, I think I brought out the best in each of my students. I helped them see how they were smart.....and to my mind they were all amazing kids.

I think that is one reason I like teaching. There is some magic that occurs, wherein I am infused with love for each of my students. Suddenly, I am their champion, I see all their greatness, I am filled with warmth and fondness. It is such a great feeling, and it only grows throughout the year. It is not unlike becoming a parent, and the care of all those souls gives life such richness and meaning.

So, there is an empy spot where my kiddos were. And those bright ideas for projects, new ways to practice a skill, new ways to organize, new teaching strategies that leap into my mind - I have to let them all float away, wasted. There's not a thing I can do with them.

I love the work that I do. I love being a mom. There are only so many hours in the day. That's the reasonable voice talking. I do NOT need to be teaching English, let alone World History. But, something in me stamps its feet and cries - "But I WANT to!!!!!!"

BACK, I THINK

2011-09-12T18:04:00.000-07:00

I spent the last couple of weeks, off and on (mostly off, to be honest) trying to "fix" my blog so it wouldn't just go to "blogrolling".

Well - I'm proud of myself! I think I did it.

Only a couple of weeks! And the "interface" on blogger is changed. This is better? Why???

Now, if only I had time to write.....

Religious Education needs all of my attention.

I have two boys in Grand Ledge High School - "only" 20 minutes from home, but probably 40 from my office, and then Zhen is going to Mrs. Allen's school in Old Town....20 minutes from Grand Ledge. All in all it is an hour commute for me. Craig was supposed to help, obviously, but he's in the hospital with blood sugar adjustment issues. Good luck to me.

Anastasia is supposed to be doing a K12 on-line program, but getting her enrolled in it is like trying to climb Everest. Quite the challenge.

Lydia is coming to visit in a couple of weeks, with Vance! I thought it would be fun if she surprised her godmother at her godsister's wedding....I just wish it wasn't the night before Religious Education classes begin..... I'm really scared about getting everything done.

One cute thing. I took Ilya to the Y tonight, and he said he really liked "that Russian heating thing" (better known as the sauna).

Yes; joined the Y, but no time to actually go to the Y. While he was at the Y, I ran back to work to return some calls.

Now it is bed time; Zhen wants me to read aloud.

If I haven't lost all my readers....well, probaby even if I have, I'll be back to it soon.

Reading this I note that, whatever else is going on, I seem to have lost the ability to write.

SO MANY WAYS TO GET IT WRONG

2011-08-30T04:32:00.000-07:00

The trick of using Dan Hughes' SPACE therapy and parenting model is - well, to do it right. The post before last gave an example of how magical it is when you finesse it. Wowie. But I'm discovering, there are oh-so-many ways of doing it wrong.

Playfulness - Playfulness can sometimes totally knock an oncoming dysregulation fit out of the ballpark. You see it coming and - wham! A bit of fun, and the storm passes (to mix a few metaphors). When we were at the conference one evening we came back from dinner and something or other had Miss Anastasia approaching a problem-zone. She ran ahead of us to the hotel door and claimed she was not going to let us in, and silly as that sounds she was serious and I could feel Craig, next to me, gearing up to strong-arm her. I tried a bit of playfulness - in this case grabbing Craig and suggesting we go take a nice long walk (we had the key) - and after a few backings and forthings, Anastasia was in a good humor and we all entered the hotel room in peace. Later Craig said he was in awe. "How did you do that?" (Well, hate to say, even doing it I was keeping my fingers crossed. I wonder if even the professionals can get to the point where they feel sure of themselves.....)

But then there was the trip home. We'd driven twenty minutes or so, and I asked Anastasia if I could have the pillow. She wasn't using it, but had it on her lap. I was playful, pretending to grab it, etc.. But, she didn't respond and she wouldn't hand over the pillow. I was playful some more and she slapped my hand (without humor)....more playfulness, increased resistance. To make a long story short, if playful doesn't get a playful response in fairly short order, abandon that ship! I was still being playful when she was seriously slapping my hand and speaking disrespectfully. The thing was - I couldn't see how handing over the pillow would ever rise to anything that "playfulness" couldn't master. But I missed a piece! I missed the ever-critical empathetic piece. I was not really connecting with her; rather I was pretending to connect with the "her" I thought ought to be there. I didn't notice that she was on her phone, texting her fingers off, and certainly didn't know that she'd just had someone tell her that a certain boy had called her a sl*t. I wouldn't have been playful either. Why was I too stupid to actually pay attention to her? I was really ashamed of myself that I'd driven her to behaving badly simply by not being observant and empathetic.

About an hour later at a rest stop when Craig was getting gas, I turned to her, apologized and said, "I realized too late that you were upset. I am sorry I was so annoying when you were obviously feeling bad about something. Want to tell me what's wrong?" And then she revealed to me what the text had been about. I didn't say anything about the pillow, but as Craig got back in the car, she gave it to me.

Gosh, I hate the mis-steps.

THE STATE OF THINGS

2011-08-29T04:18:00.000-07:00

About half of the contents of my office

The timing of the DDP Conference wasn't perfect. Or, rather the timing of the re-structuring at the school wasn't perfect. THIS is the contents of my working life (about half of it could fit in the frame). Except in this photo (believe it or not) it is somewhat in order. The idea was, I would come back from the conference, and in an orderly fashion move things into my new office. (It isn't really "new" - in fact it is a substandard space to the left of the stage, where they have always put the teachers that "don't matter" much - the itenerant Spanish teacher, the part-time PE teacher, etc. They needed me to move, as no one else would, or could, and the art teacher needed a space big enough for her to have another desk for an intern. So, I offered my office and agreed to take the "spare office"....but, you know, I like it. I am not sure why (and I know that I won't like it during band practice) but it is cozy in some way, and perhaps I like it because long ago, when the church was the gym, it was the sacristy...so it has a certain "sacred" air. Plus (big, big plus) it has its own restroom!!

This is no small thing.

However, back to the point. While I was away, apparently they had the "gift" of some high school volunteers, who they had "help" by putting all of this stuff IN my new office.....that is they threw it in there, willy-nilly, stacking it every which way, completely blocking with stacks of heavy boxes, the very cabinets in which the things need to be stored. I could have wept. They even chose to move a closet full of things, and two shelves of books and papers which I had carefully labeled "Please do not move these items." So, all of the kids' vital records (which I need for school), infomation about when to call a psychiatrist for Anastasia (including phone number), and the sheet upon which I made notes about people who volunteered to teach for me this year - all of those time sensitive, and oh-so-important things ended up just tossed on top of this box and that, which then got into the above-described mess in the new space. I don't know when I've felt so overwhelmed.

I've been slogging through it for a week and look for more of it today...... One of these days, surely, I'll see he floor.

TWO SAD THINGS

2011-08-26T04:16:00.000-07:00

I controlled myself. I just planted this last year, so was really enjoying the blooms. Was appalled to find that Miss Anastasia had plucked every single daisy off.

But, by the grace of God, rather than rail at her, I remembered that "all behavior is communication" and I even remembered some of the therapeutic parenting model. I was accepting, empathetic and curious.

"Wow.....I saw you plucked all of the flowers off the plant. You must have really felt angry to do that." [I could see how surprised she was that I wasn't angry, and as a result she relaxed and was curious herself, at what I'd say.] "I was wondering....I was thinking, 'maybe Anastasia feels like that plant, maybe she feels like some things that were beautiful about her were destroyed.'"

I was stunned, absolutely stunned when in a few minutes she revealed some further incidents of sexual "abuse" that she'd remembered from her far-distant past. Things a bit too vulgar and disturbing to write here, and things that clearly upset her. And I thought, no wonder she feels like she had her pretty blossoms plucked and thrown in the dirt. My poor dear.

Last week Anastasia and I were at a store and some music was playing. She said, quite openly, "For some reason, whenever I hear this song, I can't help but cry. Tears just come into my eyes." I listened a moment and asked - "What is the song called?" She responded, "I Love You Just the Way You Are."

I turned away so she couldn't see how tears came into my eyes then.

Later, of course, I told her that I loved her just the way she is. But I could tell she couldn't hear me.

POINT OF VIEW - More Dan Hughes Regurge

2011-08-25T04:27:00.000-07:00

We so often tend to presume that people experience things more or less the way we do. That rules the way we communicate with them. I'm sure we've all been in a situation where we found ourselves talking at cross purposes with someone, because either they - or we - knew something the other didn't.

We also presume that we are communicating clearly with our radishes when, actually, we might be missing out on something huge - their whole point of view.

This was illustrated so powerfully at the conference - just one of those things I know I'll never forget. Dan played a scene on DVD twice....the scene was of a walk down a hillside to the beach, and then looking out onto some rocks jutting from the water. In the first trip through, the background music was Pachabel's canon - peaceful, serene, beautiful. In the second version, the music was the ominous music from Jaws.. To begin with, the Jaws music almost requires the listener to tense up. And amusingly, it literally impacted my thinking. Though the visual looked the same initially, I fully expected that a different version of the scene would unfold....someone would appar from behind the trees....there would be a dead body on the beach...that sort of thing. This, simply because the music was different. The music gave us our cue about what to expect. Our expectations changed the experience. I would also have been willing to bet money on the trees in the second version being darker and the rocks at the end taller and more jutting. Really. So much so that if I had the DVD, I'd be compelled to actually compare them to see maybe if there wasn't a bit of hanky-panky with the footage. (There wasn't, obviously, but it is hard to believe.) My expectations colored what I saw with my eyes.

What this illustrated so perfectly is how a situation can seem perfectly safe and charming from our point of view, and yet appear full of peril from our child's point of view. We have to remember, that while for us Pachabel's Canon may be playing - they are expecting evil behind every tree, they are tensed for trouble, ready to protect themselves. That can apply to individual sitatuations, of course, but also their entire situation. For us adopting them is a dream come true - a lovely, sweet pastoral. For them, it might well be the next chapter in their personal horror story.

Boy, it is hard to remember that! If ever there has been a person who didn't expect trouble, or anything bad to happen it is me. I never met a person I didn't like, I never suspect anyone's motives, I trust what I'm told, etc. So, I do have trouble understanding the person who is wary, hesitant, suspicious.

Getting this stuff right is SO difficult! But, one thing I have noticed, is that if I get a certain situation off on th wrong foot, if I "get a grip", I can usually change my approach and pull it out somehow. Not always. And sometimes I don't even remember to try - I'm all in the moment. For example, last night, when Anastasia was out on the street in a crappy part of town, at 9:30 at night - I didn't think of therapeutic parenting for one second. Totally forgot about it. Instead I tried the typical stuff (well, darn it! I was in the car on the street!). The typical stuff didn't work.

At least she is open enough with me, to have called me as she was walking and told me that someone had texted her and told her she was "annoying" and a "slut", and she revealed that if guys started liking her she couldn't keep herself from hitting them. (Well, yes; that does sound annoying!)

Oh, boy. Got me some work to do. I wonder what music is playing behind her scene, while I listen to "The Good Ship Lollypop"?

POSITIVE AND NEGATIVE FEEDBACK

2011-08-24T13:52:00.000-07:00

Reading Fioleta's comment on my post about the SPACE training, made me think a little more about "feedback" and "criticism". Funny how both the words "critique" and "evaluation" which, in themselves simply refer to judging or commenting, are immediately taken to mean negative judgement or comment.

What grabbed my attention in Fioleta's post was this: "And I think for many people the fear of the negative evaluation is more prevalent than the anticipation of positive approval" What struck me is that this is true for me not just in prospect but also in actuality. Is that true for everyone?

As I've mentioned I was in professional theatre for seven years or so, in addition to college and post-college years when I did both university and local productions and the somewhat famed Colorado Shakespeare Festival. I got scores of positive reviews in those years. Most shows were reviewed by a number of different papers. The Oregon Shakespeare Fesitval was reviewed by every newspaper up and down the west coast. But, do you know - thirty years later, I can give you a list of the not-so-complimentary things said about me, because I somehow learned them by heart.

"As for the rest, the less said the better...." (That was my first review outside of High School, mind you, for my portrayal of Alais in The Lion in Winter, and though the observation obviously included most of the cast, I took it absolutely to heart.) "Anya Springer is lovely to look at but doesn't seem to have grasped the character...." "Anya Springer was adequate in her portrayal of Phoebe." "_______ ________ as Helena and Anya Springer as Hermia didn't damage the production, but didn't add to it much either."

I only remember one positive one from my entire theatre career, and I think I probably remember that one because I didn't find it until years later. * Only one out of untold good reviews!

The curious nature of this "who cares about the good comments?" attitude came to me one afternoon in the greenroom at OSF, where I'd finally gotten up the nerve to look through the enormous, many-inches-thick book on the coffee table containing reviews of the season's offerings. I'd glance at the title of the review, then scan for my name. If the comments were positive, I'd flip to the next review, barely taking it in. I do recall feeling a huge sense of relief that I was flipping through that book rather quickly. "Thank God, I'm not a failure." In retrospect, I know that my Hermia was wonderful and my Phoebe was fine (that's a darned difficult part to make much of, honestly); my "weird sister" (in the Scottish play*) was pretty darned good, but we were costumed in such a way that no reviewer could distinguish one of us from another. But, as I went through the review book, if the review was negative, my heart would sink, and I'd read the words over and over again - the less-than-thrilled review of my Phoebe was from that afternoon. That review certainly taught me the meaning of "damned with faint praise". Reading that made me want to throw up. And that's the way I felt! Sick - even though I'd just read one after another positive reviews! I could even see then how absurd this was, but the knowing meant nothing. I felt bad because one person didn't like my performance - didn't like it so much they wrote about it and published it in a newspaper! If I let myself, I could get worked up now, I think.

So, why are we like this? I guess I'm glad that I didn't feel compelled to obtain a copy of all of my good reviews and keep them in some scrapbook (as many of my fellow players did). I actually, felt very confident about my abilities. So why take negative comments so much to heart? I really don't understand it.

But, I suppose as a result I try to carefully watch what I say to students. I wish I could say I was that careful with my children. What I have learned in education classes, and practiced more diligently reading Harold Glasser's book (which I recommend) is that you need to follow every proper Victorian purveyor of etiquette and simply do not make personal comments. "You are a good girl." makes your radish panic; she is filled with shame, she believes to her depth that she is a bad girl....so she is not even concentrating on what you are trying to get across because she is so triggered by that personal comment. Rather, "This room is spotless! It makes me feel great to be in here!" Not: You are a wonderful cook.". but "These cookies are amazing!" Those comments go into the hopper, and get weighed in.....balanced against all of the unmet needs, unanswered cries and lack of affection that make her see herself as worthless, they don't seem too powerful, but they do something (unlike the generalized judgment that only calls out for contradiction.)

["Anya Springer's portrayal of Viola outshown Vanessa Redgrave's which I saw earlier this year." James Sandoe in The Shakespeare Quarterly. Sorry. Had to share. Finding this while doing some sort of research on the play, itself, really put a belated but pleasant conclusion to that era of my life.]

COLLECTED WEIRD BITS

2011-08-19T02:19:00.000-07:00

I learned a little something from one of my Korean students. In Korea (in the Eastern hemisphere, I think) they call hurricanes typhoons. Beats me. But, the interesting bit? They name them, too.... And they name them, in rotation, by Korean, Japanese and Chinese names. I didn't think to ask about male/female. But, now I think of it - I hear both, but do they carefully alternate Hispanic and Anglo names when they name our hurricanes? I'll have to find out.

I have long thought that the word "community" is overused. For example, "Black Community" - I sincerely doubt that all black folk feel community with one another....or, at the very least, there wouldn't be any gangs. And, isn't it a bit patronizing and belittling to suggest that they do? Is there a "white community"? I heard the weirdest one this week on our local NPR station - speaking of our local "Medical Marijuana Community". I've really missed out! I didn't realize that I could have been enjoying the social life and support of the "Sinus-Ibuprofen Community".

Sometimes you hear a word used in the news that really seems "perfect" in context. It is just slightly underused, and has a meaning that is apt in a certain situation. I've noticed that you'll hear it once, and think "good use of language". But, in short order, you'll hear that unique word again, and then again, and then again... It is no longer unique, in fact it is overused. A good word - down the drain. I think this was done years ago with "empower" and "enable", More recently "robust" lost its gusto through overuse. In the last few months I've noticed the same thing happening with "compelling". Dang it! Loved that word.

While I'm on this kick, just let me mention that the phrase "on the ground" is getting a bit old, too. It must have arisen when we first had reporters embedded with the troops. I expect "on the ground" has military origins - at least it sounds that way. And in that context it often makes sense, pointing out, as it seems to, the bit of disconnect between those planning an operation from afar and those actively involved. But, recently I've heard it used when "on site" or even "there" would sound a lot less self-conscious.

One entertaining things about teaching the Koreans is that I will learn something while I'm explaining something. For example, yesterday I was trying to explain the word "apt"and in doing so realize that it must have really originated as a short version of "appropriate".

Now, off my obsession with language for two more random bits:

Query to self: Why, Annie, do you persist in creeping around in the dark, fearful of opening doors or making a sound at 4 a.m., when at 9 or even 10 a.m. you need to shoot off a canon to wake anyone up? (I am pretty sure I could turn on the lights and talk to myself and it wouldn't bother a soul.)

I heard someone the other day excited about school about to start. They can't wait for the kids to be "back in school." I LOVE summer, and having the children out of school....the confession is how much I hate the school year, which brings with it the burden of homework and the stress of having to go somewhere first thing in the morning. I am just now beginning to push myself back into a more rigorous schedule at work. It makes me want to cry. I'm already feeling like someone is running behind me with a bayonet forcing me on.....and I haven't even begun to face: lunches, homework, clean and appropriate clothing for everyone, a real, non-flexible start time. I'm not sure I'm up to it. And, add to that the feeling that I am saying "good-bye" to my kids for nine months. Henceforward I will have to spend our few minutes together each day harassing them about their schoolwork, or urging them to move faster.

EMERGENCY INSTRUCTIONS

2011-08-18T03:35:00.000-07:00

Photo borrowed from his website; I might have even taken a better one!

You know those dramas - or horrifyingly, sometimes a real-life story: when the pilot passes out and someone in the flight tower guides the hapless passenger in landing the plane.....or the emergency surgery, performed in the wild with a rusty knife, by someone getting instructions from a doctor over a phone that cuts in and out....

That's been my last week. I've strained and sweated to learn, to remember, to commit to heart the life-saving skills that I must use to save my Anastasia. Grueling work.

I spent last week - 30 hours of it, anyway, with Dan Hughes in Pennsylvania, at his "Beginning Training" for therapists using the Dyadic Developmental Psychotherapy model. That phrase sounds difficult, but perhaps the "for dummies" version suggests that kids who missed proper parenting in their early months and years, missed out on learning how to process the things that happen to them in their lives. (Waaaaay simplified.) As therapists, (and parents) our job is to, in a sense, replicate that mother/child interaction both to help the child process whatever loss and trauma they have experienced, and also to prepare them to make these connections on their own.

Dan is knwn for his SPACE acronym, which helps you remember the key attitudes and approaches necessary: P - playfulness; A - Acceptance; C - curiosity; E - Empathy. There are a whole bunch of "S" - the most important, to my mind, being Safety.

As a teacher the model also makes sense. Not all children NEED it, but I think all kids can benefit from it. Beginning with Safety. Research has shown that people need a sense of safety in order to learn. One of the things shown to decrease a sense of safety is evaluation. (Kind of contrary to the atmostphere in a lot of classrooms - you think?) In relation to my little Nastia, it means to not do the thing that might come most naturally to all of us who have been marinated in behaviorist theories, and desire to cement good behavior: don't say, "Good girl!" "You were very sweet to clean your room." etc. because any good evaluation, suggests that a bad evaluation might be right around the corner.

Safety is also key to the parent/child relationship. If your child does not feel you are keeping him/her safe, how can you be trusted? And for children whose original parents failed to provide safety, it is even more important (and more difficult) to provide in the proper doses. I think that for parents, and teachers, a part of providing safety, is keeping the stimulation at managable doses. That's a challenge, for sure!

There were 23 therapists at the training - me, and two other moms. But we moms all slunk in under other auspices. One mom is a therapeutic foster parent; the other, like me, has a ministry to parents in her pastor-husband's congregation.

Being around that many therapists was like being a child in a candy store. Initially, I had to work really hard to prevent myself from buttonholing them and asking "freebie" questions. It wasn't long, however, before - watching that many therapists ask questions and do the activites - I realized there were only a limited number that I'd want to ask questions of! (And, consider - these are the therapists who sought out Dan Hughes!) Odd. Just goes to show what a crapshoot it is calling up someone whose name you find in the phone book, and paying big bucks for their "expertise".

So, why did I "eliminate" them from my affordable-therapist-nearby imaginings? Ignorant questions. Weird affect. Lack of affect. Clearly not "getting it". Poor ability to perform in the role-plays. etc. But there were several who I very much wish lived in Lansing! They don't, though. [insert sad face here]

I also just think that there are people who are gifted in this way, and those who are not. I am not. I'm NOT! [another sad face] I want to be, I strive....but this stuff doesn't come easy for me. I see other moms, like Christine, who clearly received a touch of pixie dust. Brilliant! She would have stood out among all the therapists there (and not just because of her dreads, because she is gifted) even though she is "only" a mom. Meanwhile there were quite a few therapists at this training who might have been trying mightily but could not escape their behavioral training and practice.

The most notable event in the training was my opportunity to "be" Anastasia in a role play with the master himself. The role play was long - seemed like an entire therapy session, and in retrospect, because I was being Anastasia, and in her present really scary place, I offered an almost-too-challenging client. However, a lot of the people thought that the mock session was helpful for them. It certainly was for me. For the first time, I really did begin to understand some of the convoluted, knotted-up, confused ideas crammed into that child's head, all held together by lack of trust and fear. (Actually, the experience made me think there might be something to be said for drama-therapy....which probably exists, though I think I just made it up).

And, I got another example of the power of "the Method" (and in the hands of a non-professional). One of the other moms, Kim, and I hit it off. She came back to the hotel one night to wait for her husband to pick her up (which he only did at 11 p.m.), so we had quite a lot of time together. She'd seen the mock session with "Anastasia" so she had some background. As my faithful readers will recall, Anastasia had a very hard time with staying home when Craig and I went to Chicago in April, and an even harder time staying home when Sergei, Zhenya and I went to Virginia in June, so this time, like it or not, she had to come. (I'd foolishly promised that the next time I went someplace.....) So Craig had to come along as well, and he and Nastya were back at the hotel.

Nastya took to Kim immediately and opened up from the first moment they began talking. Kim has a challenging daughter Anastasia's age, so appreciated the practice (though in her non-professional judgement Anastasia is "really messed up") This is a diagnosis Craig is hanging his hat on. And no matter how many times I exclaim "Kim is a MOTHER, like me! NOT a therapist." he doesn't seem to believe it. Perhaps that is because she is good. She used the strategies we were being taught like a master (better than many of the professionals I role-played with, for sure.) And they worked like a charm. They worked so well, that Anastasia came back from their walk together, went to bed and a little later called me over to sleep with her!

There are a few other things worthy of mention, but I've noticed that my posts are a bit on the long side, so I'm signing off for now....

OLEG

2011-08-05T11:18:00.000-07:00

For some reason, I've had trouble lately editing in Blogger. It won't let me see my post! So the last one is incomplete. Here is the photo of Oleg, and the description I wrote:

Wake up to sunshine every morning! Oleg is a cheerful, cooperative, boy with a positive attitude. He is courteous, helpful and considerate. Oleg is "all boy". While he is tiny for his age (12), he is muscular and strong. He is a confident swimmer and picked up skateboarding within twenty minutes of practice. Jumping on the trampoline, playing catch with the football, a game of soccer in the yard - he excelled at them all with a healthy competitive spirit. He also has great fine motor skills and deftly turned out a number of crisp and clever origami creations. Oleg is friendly and seems to get along with everyone, both girls and boys. He played beautifully with a five year old boy and has a blast with our teenaged sons. He handled some "bad attitude" from our thirteen year old daughter with good humor, giving as good as he got. He is spunky and funny. Educationally, he would do beautifully as a homeschooler, or in a school willing to be flexible. He speaks and reads Ukrainian and understands Russian. Our impression is that Oleg is quite bright but has not had much educational opportunity. We would adopt him in a minute if we weren't just over the allowed age. He is a jewel and would make a joyful addition to any family.

WE HAD SOME FUN

2011-08-05T11:12:00.000-07:00

Me, with bad hair, and Rachael

Last week we had an invitation to meet some mostly e-friends for an IRL experience. And it was so much fun!

For a couple of days we had had the blessing of a visit from (respite, in a sense) for a darling boy from Ukraine, being hosted by a family in our parish. Oleg's host family was finding the language issues exhausting, so I offered my Russian-speaking household for a couple of days to give them a break. And, happily, on one of those days Rachael invited us to join two of her sisters, Natalie and Lori for some tubing fun at Natalie's house. Rachael is hosting a 14 year old boy from Ukraine, and Lori is hosting a 15year old girl. Add them to Rachael's vim-full Russian daughter and three bio-children and Lori's and Natalie's adorable little ones.... In addition to Oleg, I brought Sergei, Zhen and Maxim - it was quite a bunch!

I had honestly forgotten that I'd been tubing before. But, watching the kids brought it all back. I remember why I didn't like it! I hate having my body slammed about like that - it is the same thing I don't like about riding a roller coaster. But, the kids had no such qualms. Every one of them was in seventh heaven, and couldn't get enough. Natalie was beyond generous as she piloted the boat for hours....as she couldn't even watch the kids, that was a real act of love.

Sergei had his own style

It was so much fun to meet the Ukrainian kids and see how they were falling in love with their families. Rachael is so clearly giving her mama's heart to her Sergey, and there is lovely bond which you can see between the adorable Anya and Lori. Meanwhile, yes - I had to fight falling in love with Oleg, even in the two days we had him visiting us, especially knowing his host family, with their highly structured home, and one much younger child, were not a fit and won't try to adopt him. But, I also knew that Ukraine's laws are more restrictive in terms of parents' age and we are just a bit too old for him. So, I tried to keep that guard up around my heart (not all that successfully, frankly.) As Rachael pointed out, it was also surprising to see how the host kids stuck with their host families rather than gravitating to the other Ukrainian kids. Seeing Oleg do that with us, only made things harder, I must say. He would be a super brother for Zhen.

Zhenya and Oleg (Zhen only looks mad; the downside of candid photos.)

Here is the photo of Oleg from the available children's site on the New Horizons website, along with what I wrote about him:

Thanks to Lori for the use of a couple of her photos!

MORE (than you want to know, probably) ABOUT THE LAST POST....

2011-07-30T11:17:00.000-07:00

I've been finding my posts far too wordy and "heavy" lately, so I tried to sharpen up the last one, and in doing so, probably left everyone wondering about my sanity.

Worst, I hope I didn't come off as touting myself as "saintly"!. That last post was written by the "me" that is standing by, quite amazed, at my ability to be so unselfish in those situations. I can assure you, I have a host of faults, and do a lot of selfish things I should have grown out of long ago.... Yesterday I turned water on for a bath, and when I could tell someone was in the shower - I left my hot water running. Now how selfish is that? I knew it at the time, and did it anyway. (Just one bit of evidence.)

But, I left out some of the "back story" that made my ignoring Anastasia's text seem somewhat reasonable. As my birthday approached, I found her in a composed moment and brought up a conversation about birthdays. In the past few months, I've gotten a lot more overt in talking with her about her issues. So I tried to explain how, since she has a hard time believing she is valuable, it creates a lot of confusion and anxiety when she is the center of attention. That anxiety comes out in feeling angry and being mean. I could tell this was resonating with her, and saw glimmers of realization flicker across her face. I went on to say, that strangely, when it was someone else's birthday and the focus was on them, THAT felt bad, too. I kept referring back to how when her mother didn't know how to take care of a baby, it created some mistaken ideas in her head. When her mom didn't take good care of her, it made baby Nastia feel she wasn't worth taking care of. It made her feel like garbage, even though she is precious. I want her to know she is precious, and I want her to believe it, like I do!

In some context during that conversation, I actually used that term "making life a living hell." She laughed at the phrase, and it I guess it stuck in her mind. I told her my birthday was coming up, and I knew that it might make her feel uncomfortable. I promised that I would try not to do anything to make it especially hard for her, and I wanted her to try to remember that when someone else gets attention, it does not mean that they are any more special or important or loved than she is....that one of the best presents I ever got from God was her! She is priceless.

So, when I got her text, to me it said: I remember our conversation about birthdays. I am feeling stressed out about yours.

I didn't respond to the text, and she didn't make life a living hell in any way. I ended up having to work all day; Craig took me out for pasty and coffee before she got up, and Sergei and Ilya took me out to a Sushi restaurant for dinner and I brought Anastasia back my left-overs. All was well.

Maxim's comment came in the context of a 3-4 month period when he has had no one on earth to rely on except me. Looooong story. The other day he was exasperating me, rather. "Mrs. Kitching I want you to wait for me." "Mrs. Kitching, can you go in with me?" "Mrs. Kitching please, you make that call." "Mrs. Kitching, you have to help me! I don't know how!" I came within an inch of exclaiming, "Stop being such a baby!!!" And, as those words came into my mind, I realized that he's bonding with me like a baby. He is relying on me. He does need me. He isn't helpless, but he needs to feel held and loved and cared for. Meanwhile, from that place of as-much-safety-as-I-can-provide-with-four-other-kids-at-home-and-two-jobs, he is making incredible strides in self-understanding. Way too much to write about, even if I wrote about him every day. It is really remarkable.

I think that I could find his statement ironic and funny, partly because in my heart I think it is just the opposite. In my heart I think, that just maybe he is beginning to believe that there is someone on this earth who finds him valuable and will stick with him, no matter what he says.

Hope so. But, I am also glad to observe in myself that my love for him doesn't rely on it.

PUT ON A HAPPY FACE

2011-07-29T03:30:00.000-07:00

One thing I know. I am becoming more truly loving and this is not as much fun as one might think. I aways thought I was a "loving" person, but it was a "tit-for-tat" reciprocal sort of love I was envisioning - or, at the very least, loving kindness that would be appreciated.

I rather like author Scott Peck's definition of love, found in his book The Road Less Traveled, "I define love thus: "The will to extend one's self for the purpose of nurturing one's own or another's spiritual growth." I actually think he could almost have written "one's own and another's".... Seems to me they go together.... But, in any case, you certainly need a sense of humor keep you going.

Two cases in point this week:

Monday was my birthday. I had to scoot out to work before Anastasia got up - but never fear! She sent me a Birthday text, to wit:

It is ur birthday. I am going to make ur life

a living hell.

Now, if you can't laugh at that, you have no sense of humor. OK; it took me a moment. But, after a bit of thought I realized this is actually a sort of breakthrough. It shows that she recognizes birthdays (both hers and others') as a trigger. Step in the right direction, yes?

Slightly harder to take, but still funny in its way was conversation with Maxim last week. Every week I drive him to his counseling session, and abandonment-wary as ever, he wants me to stay there rather than go run errands or whatever. As long as the interesting magazines held out I was OK with that, but having read the same Good Housekeeping for the third or fourth time (down to actually reading the tiny ads at the back), I suggested that rather than wait in the waiting room, I get his laundry started a few doors down. (That was going to be the next thing on our list, and while I had intended not to do it for him, but to teach him to do it -frankly, two birds with one hour and a half sounded good.)

Unfortunately, this was one of those 95 degree, high-humidity days and that darned laundromat didn't have air conditioning! It was like being in a cross between a hot house and a men's locker room....stinky, dank....horrible. Nearly twenty-dollars in quarters later Maxim joins me, and as is so often the case, was full of insights and ideas that he wanted to share with me. I strained to listen attentively, while folding laundry; by that time I was literally faint and almost nauseous from being over-heated, and foolishly I'd worn some sandals for the first time that were torturing my now throbbing feet. But, Maxim had some big thoughts to share and he headed right into them. He isn't able to love, he has concluded..... "Now, for example, you, Mrs. Kitching. I like the stuff you do for me and everything. But, if you died, I really wouldn't be sad about it."

Throbbing feet, sweat dripping down my face, more clothes than could fit into the two baskets. A couple of big, thick towels that would not dry.... But, somehow, despite this (or perhaps because of it) I was still able to find the situation amusing. And, later I could even see the bright side - it certainly shows he trusts me enough to tell me anything, doesn't it?

PROBLEM RESPONDING TO BLOGS

2011-07-27T05:31:00.000-07:00

For the last month or so I have found that I cannot respond to blogs that require "signing in". It is SO frustrating, and confusing. Weirdly, it seems that I can respond at work. My little logo pops right up without my doing anything. But I am not generally blogging or looking at blogs at work!

At home, I can sign in as anonymous and sign my name, if there is an "Anonymous" choice. If not, and I select Google ID, it sends me to "log in" (although I may only then have completed a post),and then it tells me that basically, I don't exist. That password and ID work for me in every other circumstance. What gives?

A few comments here and there have led me to believe I am not alone here. Did anyone figure it out?

THEN AND NOW

2011-07-27T04:37:00.000-07:00

Are there things that stick in your mind? I recall hearing Dr. Laura say many years ago that "people never change". What the heck could she mean? Anyway, ever since I heard her say that I've had an underlying "search" going for examples of people changing. And the other night I startled myself by realizing that I am one of them.

My neighbor Rosemary and I have been friends since my older kids were little, but we only see one another in the summer due to our school year-intense jobs. Saturday night she happened by on her walk and I invited her to come up to sit on the porch for a bit. As she sat down, Sergei was being picked up for his dog-walking job. In a few minutes, Ilya and a friend from across the block came running through a few yards and into the house. Not long after, a van arrives, spewing out four loudly chattering Russian girls. A couple of Russian school moms had taken the girls to the Ionia Fair and they were dropping Anastasia off (of course, all the girls needed to go into the house before continuing home). When I finally sat back down, Rosemary commented on how different my life must be now from the days when I simply had two quiet, compliant children. I hadn't thought of it before, and yet I realized - yes; things are SO different.

No longer a perfectionist... One thing Rosemary and I always have had in common is this perfectionistic tendency. Suddenly it struck me that undoubtedly she has noticed, simply from the look of our yard and porch, that something has changed for me! Garden tools left out, a cardboard box sitting on the porch steps day after day, projects uncompleted, flowers unplanted.....in fact, a few totally empty flower beds. All attest to the fact that things have changed. I have to admit that if the yard is bad, the inside is worse. I had a bit of an awakening - suddenly "seeing things" through Rosemary's eyes. I hadn't even remembered the degree to which I used to revel in my pretty, clean and tidy home. It is tidy no more. I aim for clean and don't always make it.

No longer a decorator... No longer do I pick up "Old House Journal" when I get the chance. I have lowered standards in terms of home decor, to say the least! Though, I expect that if I wasn't caring for four kids and paying off adoption debt, our faded sheets and towels would have been replaced long ago. We used to have a pretty, matched set of china. No longer. Any two matching items are a surprise. The upholstery is worn....OK, even stained here and there. Rugs are threadbare. Linoleum needs replacing.

But, it is more than just the outer things that have changed.

No longer so controlling... I have loosened up. Partly it is realizing that raising children is not an exact science. I was hyper-controlling with my older two. No TV - almost ever. We had a TV, but it was on the third floor, where it was hotter than heck in summer and miserably cold in winter. They had to ask permission to go up and watch a religious video from church. That was a treat! The computer was for parents or for educational purposes. For safety's sake, they were only allowed to play in the backyard..... When they were 15 or 16 (I am not exaggerating!) I allowed them to have radios and play music, but the rule was - if I heard it, they'd lose it.

Now we are pretty loose about the computers, and the TV....and there is a TV in the LIVING ROOM, for heaven's sake! There is an xbox. There is a sound system in Sergei's room.

No longer so tense... Startled, I realize that I've become a lot more mellow. Not all of those strictures with my older kids were simply for their protection. A lot of them were for my protection! I couldn't bear to hear "background noise" (like TV and radio).... How can it be that those things don't bother me much at all, anymore? I actually took a nap yesterday afternoon with Russian techno music pounding through the ceiling.

No longer as protective.... I used to be so worried about the children's moral influences. Well, I suppose that when your children had all kinds of influences which you couldn't control for years before you got them - and they are still wonderful, and adorable - you figure that those things perhaps don't matter as much as you thought they did. And Aidan and Lydia, while very good people, are quite happy living in the contemporary culture, listening to music and watching TV - their early years did make them readers, but they seem to enjoy popular culture as much as the people whose parents didn't protect them from it. Furthermore, they are not a priest and a nun. What can I say?

Rosemary's interpretation is that I have received so many graces. Yes; in some ways, yes. When I let the kids eat in the living room, watch TV, listen to music - I realize - I am not as selfish. When I allow them to run around the neighborhood, take long walks, have friends over whose parents are not pillers of our parish - I am more trusting in God. We don't eat out as often (almost never); I never buy cappuccino anymore; frankly, I don't have very nice clothes; no time for luxurious baths; no time to enjoy novels apart from those I read to the kids - my reading time is focused on "attachment" books. I think I am a lot less self-indulgent and a lot more self-disciplined.

However....just looking at the surface what do we see? A tumble-down house, with a broken basement window, surrounded by a scraggly yard. Kids in and out, sometimes climbing on the roof, hanging out of the third-floor window; playing in the street since the front yard is far too small; belongings not carefully put away, but strewn about the lawn and porch. No discernable sense of order or organization. Dinted cars always in the driveway since the garage seems to be full of bags of leaves which missed the spring pick-up. And don't forget the pit bull staring out the window!

It's not a very attractive picture, to say the least especially when you add in occasional yelling, crying, slamming doors. I'm glad that Rosemary could see past the outer layer to the goodness inside. I doubt everyone does.

SHORT TAKES (REALLY! WELL, MOSTLY)

2011-07-24T06:45:00.000-07:00

Craig had been encouraging Anastasia's singing (to my mind a true work of charity), but she met me at the door telling me she had been singing scales and she claimed, "My throat is annoyed!" Took me a while to realize she meant "irritated".

We got into the car, wet from swimming, on one of the recent very hot nights. Zhenya complained that the cold air was too cold, and Sergei responded, "We have to have it on Zhen. Otherwise it is too moggy in here." I think the combination of "foggy" and "muggy" is just the word we've been needing!

We won Diana's monster give-away. I really felt that the monster ought to be Anastasia's for his therapeutic benefits, but it was Zhen who was beyond anxious to open the box. Well, wouldn't you know - a fight ensued. He may be an efficasious monster, but he was unable to manage that little difficulty. I was about to tell Zhen that Anastasia needed the monster (I'd typed out and read his benefits prior to our opening the box) but Craig, not quite with the program, weighed in before me and declared the monster was Zhen's. Sometimes nothing is easy. Fortunately, someone texted her and saved the peace.

Maxim is a fun person. He has so many interests and enthusiasms; that's why I enjoy him so much. Yesterday, he asked me to come over and film him (on my little Nikon that will make minute-long "movies") dancing to Michael Jackson music. I had so much fun experimenting with "techniques" and "camera angles"! I loved the result, actually. Plus, he's a good dancer.

I loved Essie's post about the therapeutic benefits of slamming your shopping cart into the cart rack, and perhaps was more open to consciously realizing the degree of pleasure I get from opening those refrigerator biscuit rolls by slamming them against the side of the counter - and the satisfaction of seeing them pop open!

It is only late July; I am finally "getting to" the front yard. Unfortunately, the annuals you buy in July are ugly lanky things. It's their fault, not mine, that it all looks so crummy.

Public radio is doing a story about the "cost" of not graduating from high school.... Strikes me that it isn't the "not graduating" that costs, but the underlying problems in families that create children who can't succeed or don't value education.

I am now old enough to realize that an enormous amount of "dumbing down" has been taking place in our educational system. I never completed a Masters when I might have done because I made the move from education to religious education. Now when I take Masters level classes I am a little bit amazed that they are not as rigorous or demanding as my undergraduate classes.....and when I initially took my education classes, I was distressed at some of the low standards I noticed compared to my initial undergraduate courses - though at the time I put it down to the difference between Russian Language and Elementary Education (but surely, future teachers shouldn't be allowed to hand in papers with cross-outs and white out - in this day of computers? Really?) As an undergrad, pre-computer, if I made an error in the final sentence of more letters than could be corrected by the "auto-correct" feature, I'd type that page over. Frankly, I am convinced that my BA is equal to a present-day MA. And, my mom, who only graduated from HS - my guess is that she got a stringent BA-level, cross-discipline education. But, then - in those days not everyone was expected to graduate from HS, only the intellectually motivated. My grandmother, who earned a MA from Columbia in 1915 must have been brilliant, indeed.

HACK AWAY!

2011-07-13T04:15:00.000-07:00

Now obviously, hacking into the phone of a girl who has been abducted is beyond the pale. Hacking into the Prime Ministers' phone to get health information about his child is tacky. But, hacking into Hugh Grant's phone.....well, inquiring minds want to know!

Listening to the BBC, as I do, I have heard almost nothing in the past few days except for the buzz about Rupert Murdoch and his news organizations and their efforts to get a lot of news that is not fit to print via illegal means, i.e. hacking into people's phones.

In the US, everything is personal, so when it was covered here on some PBS show (Talk of the Nation, maybe?) all the conversation was about how people could prevent their own phones from being hacked. Ordinary, un-newsworthy citizens, like you and me were calling really perturbed about this new threat to their "privacy". Are they all having affairs? Or spelling out their passwords in their voice mail messages? Who would want to hack my phone? I can't fathom.... But just to check it out, I figured I better get in there and listen to my VM messages before someone else did! I am relying so much on my cell phone that days can go by without the messages on the house phone being checked.....there they are, just waiting to be hacked.

Mr. Murdoch! take note:

If Sergei calls Mrs. Draper, he can hear something to his advantage: she will be arriving from the cottage on Wednesday and he can earn some money helping her unload some furniture.
The milk, donated by Mrs. Mann, is in the refrigerator in the church basement.
The KIA dealership thanks us for our recent service call.
Our prescription [drat! No details given!] is ready at Walgreens.
Our Comcast bill is past due [Woah! That is embarrassing! I admit, I did forget to pay that before we went on vacation.]

It is comforting to know you have no secrets. Except.....well, I really hope no one figures out a way to let the world know the state of my laundry room.

What's on your answering machine fit for the News of the World?

DRIVERS' ED

2011-07-12T05:52:00.000-07:00

Sergei is taking Drivers' Ed. He has been begging for this for a long time. I've held off because neither Aidan nor Lydia got their drivers' licenses until they were 18. I've presented that as our "family rule", though it was a family rule that came about by accident.

With Aidan, it was a mistake. I had him hold off on the classes until he was 16. In Michigan kids can take Drivers Ed when they are 14 years and 9 mos. old, or something ~~ridiculous~~ like that; I think that is way too young - they began to let them start that young when they added a number of restrictions at the other end. In any case, no 14 or 15 year old in my family will ever take Drivers Ed! When Aidan did take it at 16, he misunderstood what he was supposed to do. He was supposed to take the card saying he'd passed the training to the Secretary of State and get a Learner's Permit. Instead, he thought the card was the Learner's Permit, and since this was a "passage of adulthood", I had left him in charge of it, and knew no different. Additionally, I was pretty strict on the practice-driving supervision; I vowed that I'd never sign off on his practice driving until I could ride around with him without white knuckles. He was 17 and a half before that happened. When he went in to get his license, they pointed out that all he was eligible for was a Learner's Permit, because he'd failed to get one (and done all his practicing illegally, as it happened). So, it was simpler to just go in when he was 18 and get his license; he would have had to wait that long anyway.

Lydia, for her part, was a reluctant driver. She had no particular desire to go to Drivers Ed, and only went with a friend her senior year of High School. So, she too, got her license at 18.

I am not (as you can perhaps tell) a fan of teen drivers. While "taking Drivers Ed" sounds innocent enough, it is really a Pandora's Box. Once a child can drive, oddly enough, they want to drive. And, as they don't have a car, they want to drive your car! So, you are faced with either often not having your car when you need it, or constant pleas for use of it, or a combination of both. Furthermore, once your child drives a family car UP goes the insurance premiums......no matter if they only drive with you, or only drive rarely. Same increased expense. And, there is the push, the nag, the whine about wanting their "own car". And, there is the parental vacillation - it is annoying to always be lending out one's car. However, once your teen has his/her own car, you have so much less control over where they go and who they go with, even how long they are gone.... Before that, you can more easily demand your car back at a certain time. When they have their own car, you have that much less "say" about it.

Kids do need to break away, but I like to delay that as long as I can......

Be that as it may, Sergei is taking Drivers Ed. I think he'll be a good driver; he is serious and competent and very law-abiding by nature. But, of course....he is already hoping for his "own car".......

FACING DOWN HUMILIATION

2011-07-11T05:08:00.000-07:00

This weekend we had two social events. Our regular Russian Club meeting was Saturday night. Russian "School" has given over to primarily social get-togethers, in the summer at least. And, on Saturday, we went to our Adoption Agency's annual picnic.

We missed the last Russian Club meeting. Ordinarily we meet at my church, in the gym. Last time the get-together was at the home of the woman who called the police after finding Anastasia walking on the street. I am sure Anastasia feels humiliation seeing these people (as do I!). But you can't hide from these things. I was glad Anastasia seemed willing to go to Russian Club, but when we passed by the road to the church, she wondered where we were going, and finding out it was this particular house, she began to talk in a way that made me realize this was not a good idea. (This is the same house, by the way, from which she ran away during the birthday party last year.) Anastasia can bear being with these people in her space, I realized - but in their home it is too much.

This week we all met for a picnic at the lake. I could see that it was a little bit difficult for her just seeing these folks, and I can certainly relate to that! I am thoroughly embarrassed in front of all of these people, honestly. Some trauma mamas seem to think that all adopted children have attachment issues. Well, they don't. In our group of probably 15 kids who are presently involved, or who have been involved, only Anastasia is "issue-laden". As a result, no one "gets" it. Yet, I think that in some ways because by definition we are always touching on her adoption/loss issues when we are with this group of friends, they've seen her worst behavior. But, they expect me to do "typical" parenting. So, I am usually, a) horrified by her behavior and b) humiliated because I know the other parents think my inadequate parenting is the cause of it.

So, on Friday I could see her struggling (which presents itself as snappish and snide), but she used good judgement and wandered down to the lake. However, there she was presented with another trigger - two girls from school. The girls were my students and wanted to say "Hi" to me, so she brought them up. Now, how do I know they triggered her? Because I happened to be taking a phone call when they returned and she interrupted my conversation, when I didn't turn around immediately, by hitting me in the back. One of the other mothers chastised her "Don't you hit your mother!" and tried to grab her arm. Fortunately, I was able to get up and defuse that situation. Being touched has become very difficult for her. Even laying a gentle hand on her shoulder makes her shy away like a wild animal, so her teeth were bared on this one.

However, I was proud of how she handled it. Instead of staying around the table and building up to something really awful (I was already imagining how bad it might become), she went for a walk with Zhenya and regulated herself. Later, she and her friends went swimming in the lake (in their clothes) and the evening ended with ice cream....for all the world as if she were having a good time like any normal girl.

On Saturday, we drove to Troy (a hour or so) to see pretty much the same people who'd been at the Russian Club gathering - and for another picnic - except that Dana, the agency head was there, of course, and I always love seeing her. And there are always potential adoptive families there to encourage - as well as lot of people we don't know....those who have adopted from other countries, and domestically. Unfortunately, apart from her friends of the previous evening, there weren't any old friends or new people to meet and she was prompted to remember some things that upset her. Sasha, an older girl we know and love, who went through a disruption, is usally there, but wasn't this year, and I think that was disturbing. I did get to talking to a couple of people interested in adoption, yet all the while I had to look nervously around, hoping Anastasia wouldn't utter one of her shocking statements in front of them... (As in, "Where's Dana? I want to talk to her about getting a new family." She said that loudly in front of our usual circle of acquaintances.....Sheesh.)

The best part of the day for all of us was our trip to the "Russian Store" afterwards, where we spent an entire week's worth of grocery money on Russian tea, pastries, black sunflower seeds, smoked cheese - all the kids' favorites. We brought a cooler and filled it with ice, so we could bring home some of this:

I was really tempted to get some of the CCCP (USSR) brand, but went for the ice cream sandwiches to the right because I remembered them as being scrumptious - and they still are! A bit of heaven on earth.

THREE GENERATIONS

2011-07-07T04:38:00.000-07:00

I vividly remember having a View Master as a child. (What do they call them now? Surely not that!)

The images were so amazing to me that I can still SEE some of them in my mind's eye. I can visualize "The Three Little Pigs" better than the home I was living in when I first saw them.

I had slides of a few different tales like that, but also, oddly, a travelogue of Michigan..... Why? I can't imagine! Though we live in Michigan now, I grew up in Colorado and have no idea whatsoever why I should have had Michigan view master slides. Those slides were a complete mystery to me. I didn't understand, even, that Michigan was a state! (Or, undoubtedly, what a state was!) I need to remember to ask my mom why I had those. But one slide of that set I remember in particular - actually the only Michigan slide I remember - "Ann Arbor" and there was indeed an arbor, as I recall it, with roses. But, I was very confused about it all.....not understanding that Ann Arbor was the name of a town, where this place was, why I should be looking at those pictures.

Of course I gave Aidan and Lydia a view master, only because it had been such a memorable thing for me. I didn't suppose they cared for it that much. Perhaps my mother didn't think I did either - being that neither I nor my kids picked up and carefully store away our slides! In fact, I can still remember being frustrated that my slides were not in order, as I dug them the bottom of the toy box. But it must have made an impression on generation #2 because Lydia brought Calvin a view master. I frankly couldn't quite understand why the packaging kept emphasizing 3D! Wasn't that the point of a view master all along???? And, honestly, when I looked in Calvin's view master, I thought his slides were vastly inferior to my Three Little Pig slides. Or, could there be an issue with my memory?

FURTHER ADVENTURES IN THERAPEUTIC PARENTING

2011-07-05T05:33:00.000-07:00

Overall, things have not been going especially well around here. Anastasia is non-stop angry. She was bad before we went to Virginia; having me leave her was bad, indeed.  However, I owed it to my older children not to let her ruin the time I spent with them.

Now her snide, nasty comments and expression puts everyone in a bad humor. I know that in some way she is trying to take control by controlling everyone's moods. I'm pretty good at ignoring her and not letting her get to me. I try to find opportunities when she is able to listen to me to name her behavior, name the reason for the behavior and the underlying need/motivation, just as the counselor advised me. i.e. Anastasia, I notice you using a lot of swear words lately. I bet you are doing that to make me angry. If you can control my feelings, then you'll feel safer. I guess you must want to do that because so many things in your life are out of control lately.

If she argues that that is not what she's doing at all (!) I am supposed to say, "Oh, well, I only know that if my teacher had abandoned ME in the middle of the year, and I had to go into a class where my own mom was spending all her time with other kids, and I had to take 8th grade math even though I hadn't finished 6th grade math - well, I'd feel out of control! I'd want to do whatever I could to feel in control of something!"

But, I must have been right on, because rather than arguing, she brought up school and how unfair it was for her to get a bad grade in math when she was working as hard as she could. So we ended up having a civil conversation for maybe a minute or two. Until she remembered that I went on vacation and left her! And,that whole anger issue was triggered because a boy she barely knows went to camp for a week, and did not come back when he said he would! (Another abandonment.....it's everywhere.)

When I last dropped the Anastasia Saga, I was going to take her to Chicago to House Calls Counseling - a whole practice devoted to attachment and trauma. They are wonderful!!!! I can't say that enough, however, we are a bit over four hours from their office. To justify it, Billy [Kaplan- who heads the practice] was ready to set aside three hours for us. Isn't that amazing?  Still, short of time and money, spending $50 in gas and an entire day a couple of times a month.....it seemed a bit too crazy.  Especially as another mom who was at ths Parenting in SPACE Conference told me about an attachment therapist in Grand Rapids, just a bit over an hour away.
Anastasia went obligingly with me to Chicago, and though she wrote out answers to questions which Billy gave her, she refused to speak to him. She went along without complaint the first time we visited Families Forever in GR. However, I could see things were not going to go much better when Mr. Ellis asked her to put a pin in a big map to show where she is from, and she refused to do it. Then she refused to talk to him. I was about to lose it. I was so stressed out - in part because we'd hit construction and a detour and I was so afraid we'd be late, but also out of sheer desperation, to be honest. I picked up a soft, fabric ball to kneed and get my stress out. I'd laid a second soft ball on the couch between us. At some point, Anastasia picked up that ball, and turned toward me; I could tell she was going to throw it, and at my face and for some bizarre reason, I threw first; I had some idea that we'd be throwing them simultaneously, but she'd hesitated a moment. Though it didn't hurt her at all, my throwing the ball probably embarrassed her and it definitely took her control away - she wanted to embarrass me!   She stood up in a fury and stormed out. I was just devastated, as you can imagine. Mr. Ellis assured me that it wasn't really my fault; she was just looking for an excuse to do that. I am sure that's true, but it made me feel like such a complete loser anyway. Fail! (As Sergei would say.) At the end of the session, Mr. Ellis walked out to say something pleasant to her, and she saw us coming and closed the windows and locked the doors.

So I've been going now every week for a month, and she won't come. So, I'm just trying to learn how to work with her, and I think Mr. Ellis is wonderful. But it sure looks like a long way out of this valley we're in.

I am excited about some upcoming training!!! I am signed up for a two-day Conscious Discipline workshop in northern Michigan later this month. Essie just loves this approach! (Not.) So, I figure if I don't get anything out of it, at least I can make fun of it with her.

And - TA-DA!!!!!! In August I am signed up for the training with Dan Hughes, himself!  I'm beyond excited about that!

A FEW SHORT TAKES ON THE FOURTH OF JULY

2011-07-04T07:42:00.000-07:00

How many boys does she have?!?!
A few neighbor boys appeared to assist with set-up.

After three years of hard use (and, admittedly, not putting it away during the winter) our trampoline was shot. Springs were broken, the net was broken, and when two jumped at once, (or Sergei alone) they'd hit the ground. So, a few days ago I bought a new one. This has been one wonderful purchase. All of the kids take "breaks" jumping at least several times a day.

Let's just get this over with! Yes! The back yard is a PIT. Well, it didn't used to be. When we moved in, when Aidan and Lydia were little, there was lawn, in the center at least, violets and other shade plants back around the edges, flowers near the porch - even a couple of rose bushes. But, over the years the neighbors' trees completely took over and covered 95% of the yard in deep shade. So the shade plants (or weeds, whatever - green, anyway) took over. I added a few hostas, and impatiens for color. But one day Ilya pointed to the tiny garden beneath the porch and asked if I wanted it weeded. Sure! A couple of hours later, I came home to find the entire back yard bare of every green thing. Uh.....thanks...... A few times since he has "cleaned it up", last time even removing the larger bushes. As I never had the heart originally to tell him that barren was not the look I was aiming for, he's tried to ever-"improve" the barrenness. I now begin to see that those odd, stretches of dirt in front of all the houses and buildings in Russia....were NOT accidents! Apparently they work for that. Beats me (especially considering the emphasis on houseplants indoors!) Craig and I were discussing perhaps putting down bark, or pea stone..... I'd like something to help prevent all the dirt from coming in the door!

If I found a school that offered hours from 10-5 or 11-6, I'd enroll the kids so fast everyone's head would spin. Is it just us? Those are the "natural" hours for kids - at least mine.....At 8:30 or nine they wake up happy and refreshed, rather than sleepy and crabby. And then I'd get to spend lovely time with them when they are fresh in the morning and the after school hours could be so much better structured. When I homeschooled that's pretty much how our days went (at least for me and the homeschooled child) , and it was grand. Craig and I would get up early - 5:30 or 6 and talk over the paper and coffee. He'd leave with the schooled child a bit before 8. Then I'd have an hour or so to clean, do laundry, even sit with my embroidery, before the homeschooler awoke. Then we'd have a lovely breakfast, and we'd putter about before leaving the house between 10:30 and 11. I seem to remember that the first on-line class began around the time we got to the office. Oh, those were the days! Life was so good. Somehow getting up early, with everyone feeling miserable and crabby just sets the tone for the day, and so diminishes the joy that might be possible with simply another schedule.

Sergei is one of the kindest, most compassionate people I know. He became acquainted with a boy playing games on-line who lives out in the country, in driving distance from us. This boy was crippled since having some disease several years ago, and is now in a wheelchair. Sergei makes an effort to arrange "playdates" (well, OK they are teens - but still, that's what it is) so that his friend has some IRL friend time, too. He was tired the other night but wanted to go because his friend was expecting him. My boy is a jewel. I'd just picked him up from his dog-walking job. He walks the boxers that belong to one of the Summit teachers; the man's wife had a back injury and can't manage them, and when her husband is teaching out of town at a community college, these big dogs still need exercise. Well, Sergei came out to the car terribly upset - the out-of-control boyfriend (now in-jail boyfriend) of the daughter of the family had shown up at her graduation party, made a ruckus and ended up attacking brutally the girl's step dad, (Sergei's teacher). This man is a sweet, gentle (and totally-unprepared-for-physical-combat) scholarly type. Sergei was really beside himself after seeing the poor man recovering from his injuries (a broken arm among them). He kept saying he "felt guilty" that he hadn't been there to protect these people. He would have done it, too. What can be a better feeling than finding that you admire your children?

One of these days I'd like to do a Maxim update. Except it will be long. After drama worthy of a made-for-TV-movie, which undoubtedly took years off my life, he has graduated from high school, praise God, and is really doing better than any of my kids, in many ways.

I suppose I owe people a Lydia update. (I looked at my "stat counter" last week, not having looked a it since installing it. Most of it didn't make sense, but I did see a couple of searches for "Lydia's husband".) After sharing the news of her marriage a couple of years ago (happy news), I wasn't much in the mood (and after all it was somewhat private) to share the news of her almost instant divorce. The young man did not turn out to be ready for marriage, but at least he realized it almost immediately. It was practically a non-event. Lydia was hurt, of course, but re-bounded and considers herself stronger and wiser for the experience.. Now she has a wonderful, serious gentleman friend. Vance brought Lydia to Cedar Point last summer to meet us all, and he was at Peej's baptism last week.

I really dislike holidays. Is this my rad coming out? I don't think I have many symptoms, but am now looking for them all the time, of course. Since my mom was seriously ill after I was born, and I was in the hospital nursery for over a month after my birth (and I don't think these were very touchy-feely places in the '50's), surely there was some impact! Anyway, as I say - I hate holidays. The only good thing I can take from these upset/dysregulated feelings is knowing that they may help me understand what my Nastia may be feeling sometimes. I dislike the sense that none of our routines are in place, or even if they are, they shouldn't be! I feel like something wonderful and special and fun should be happening, and it never is. Every other family in the world is out having a picnic, playing games, going to the cottage or the lake. We're at home doing nothing. But, if I try to create "fun" I'll just get upset if/when my family members don't "get with the program". I can't help but feel that everyone else in the world is surrounded by lots of happy family members, all working together to have a lovely time. This is nothing new; the same misery followed has followed me through my life. As a child I so bemoaned having no relatives, no extended family. It was just the four of us, and only my dad and I seemed to want to "do stuff". When I got married, and we moved to Michigan things got a bit better. Between my dad and me, we could usually pull everyone (now there were barely enough people for festivity) into having some fun of some sort....but when he passed away my mom's ability to have fun diminished significantly.... And I have to say that my husband and my mom have similar no-fun qualities. It is hopeless. I'm going to try to get some satisfaction out of cleaning out my pantry today. Poor me.

RESPITE, MY NON-EXPERIENCE

2011-07-02T16:55:00.000-07:00

I've sat back and watched how Christine, so many times, and now Courtney, have adopted children from disruption, and frankly, I'm really, really envious. How I'd love one more!

So, a couple of years ago, I joined a couple of yahoo groups for adoptive parents having problems. I've had this idea for a while. I was an active participant in one of them, in particular, trying to give some suggestions when parents begged for advice on issues that I'd already managed somehow, offering (or so I thought) encouragement, and linking to resources that have helped me. I admitted that my kids, not even Maxim, ever had some of more disturbing issues. No fire-starting. No pee-ing and pooping. No real-life sexual acting out. (There were a few unfortunate incidents on the internet.) With Maxim there was a fair share of violence, initially, and periodically since his adoption, Ilya has been a terror of destruction; we've lived through tantrums galore, and when it comes to theft, my dear M. set us back significantly. However.....no fire-starting and no peeing/pooping. God knew what I could handle. And, I fully believe with Heather Forbes that love never fails. It is not that affectionate, reciprocated love that we expect with children, it is hard and painful; it may not work quickly, granted, and it may not work the way you expect; it may require significant spiritual growth on the parents' part, and significant suffering, but it never fails entirely.

In any case, I am an inveterate optimist, and for that reason, I think, somehow the moderator of one of these groups really took a dislike to me. My optimistic outlook seemed to get under her skin. Meanwhile, to be quite honest, her negative one did the same to me. But, I thought I was always able to be gentle, and respectful, so I couldn't quite understand why, on her side she called me "self-satisfied" and "pompous" and all matter of unkind things. Fortunately, off the board a few people e-mailed me privately to thank me for my hopeful outlook, to tell me a suggestion had been helpful, etc. I rather wished they'd posted these positive comments publicly because the negative comments really hurt my feelings, to be frank. I tried to see the truth in what this woman said, and did begin to see that if someone's child presented problems that for whatever reason they were simply not prepared to face, then a positive "you can do it" voice, might indeed be an irritant. I tried to imagine my kids doing the peeing and pooping and the fire-starting. I don't know what I would have done. Anyway, she could have said that kindly - and not been rude!

I decided that this was not the right place for me and quit the group - or so I thought. But, oddly, after some time of not receiving their posts, suddenly a year ago in June, I was receiving them again, and a mom was posting about her Ukrainian son who was ....well, she made it sound as though he were killing her dogs. And yet, her posts were so convoluted and odd. I commented in some way, and surprise! She called me.

As we talked, the stories of "harm to the animals" fell apart. One dog had eaten a piece of gum with artificial flavoring which is poison to dogs, but she'd seen gum like that discarded on the street when walking another dog, she admitted. A cat had been fed with the "special" cat food - and not at the regular feeding time! And, she "really cares about" her animals! She couldn't have that! It sounded like this little guy was just being a normal little boy. Not even a particularly naughty little boy. After I asked some questions it turned out that he was guilty of things like being told to put his clothes away, and instead putting them under the bed. Like, playing with the cat, even when told not to. Like, being upset and running out to the yard and hiding in a tree. The mom wanted respite. I spoke to her as softly and compassionately as I could, and was about to ask Craig about to taking her son for the summer, when .... I hung up from a conversation with her; prayed about the situation; opened up my e-mail - and there was an e-mail from a friend here in the parish who has five daughters. It struck me that this would be the perfect place for this little boy (M). And, sure enough, this friend and her husband immediately agreed to having M. come to visit them. His family brought him up and dropped him off the very next day without any homestudy or other exploration of the situation. They gave the family something like fifty dollars and disappeared for the rest of the summer. After a few phone calls from M to his folks, they told my friend that they didn't think the calls were a good idea. They'd talk to my friend and her husband, though, and once agreed to send his soccer shoes and the fee for soccer camp, but that was it.

Since I'd initially communicated with the mom, one day after we'd had M out swimming with us, I sent her some photos of him having a dandy time, and e-mailed that he was doing great, very happy. Instead of the relieved response I expected, I got one that sounded just as though the moderator of that group had written it - saying I was a self-satisfied piece of work who apparently thought I could parent better than anyone else in the world. I was mortified! It felt like I'd been hit in the stomach. I was embarrassed and humiliated. I looked at my e-mail to her again - I'd said nothing to generate a response like that! I didn't even mention myself, really, just that M enjoyed time with my boys and we enjoyed him; he was doing well with his respite family and I hoped she was having a restful summer. But, I licked my wounds, and I certainly didn't write to her again!

While his adoptive family had spoken of respite care for the summer, making the situation permanent had been mentioned. When September was approaching my friend and her husband had come to the decision that though they really loved this little boy, because they had a daughter the same age, they weren't entirely comfortable with adopting him. Their year of homeschooling was beginning and they felt maybe it was time for M to go home. But, his family kept finding excuses not to come for him. Because I'd "placed" him, so to speak, I felt it was on me to find him another home. We'd spent quite a bit of time with him in the summer but I didn't think there was any way this woman would want him with me! (And I certainly didn't wish to communicate with her further.) So our house was not the place; however I thought of another possibility for this little guy. And it worked out! The pastor at the school where I taught, took him. And, there too, he fit in beautifully. (He was transferred from one family to the other, without benefit of parents, by the way - just phone and e-mail.) School began and M was in Zhenya's class. M did great in that small, safe environment, and in his big rollicking family. The pastor and his wife not only have eight kids of their own, six still at home, but were hosting two exchange students. And, their home was a general meeting place for all the secondary students. Lively, healthy, and cheerful. M was happy; you could see it in his face. The Pastor and his wife decided to ask about adopting him.

And suddenly, it was over. M was whisked away in the course of a couple of days. The pastor's wife was heartsick, obviously. Apparently, M had expressed his desire to stay; and somehow that and the pastor's wife assuring his mother that M was wonderful in every way - not problems whatsoever.....was offensive. I can only suppose that it made "mom" feel inadequate, criticized. She wrote to the pastor's wife very much in the same way she'd written to me. If M was happy, apparently, and not a "problem", she found it offensive.

Then this week I heard from my first friend - the one with the daughters who originally did the respite - his family wants to drop off M once again.....and wouldn't my friends really like to keep him? Well, they do care deeply for him, and their daughters love him, and ask for him; the parents agonized over it, but their concerns remain. While I have read that the taboo against sexualized sibling relationships seems to easily slip into place with adopted siblings, I didn't feel like I wanted to urge them to do anything against their instincts. The pastor's wife was called next (to their surprise) by "mom". Apparently, these folks are desperate. But these friends are also rightly fearful of getting involved with these crazy people again. And, I can understand that fear, too. When people behave so erratically, and can sound so vindictive - with no cause - there is no telling what they might do the next time. And M's disappearance last fall was hard on their children.

Meanwhile, this poor little boy is living in an environment where he is not loved (admittedly).

Frankly, my feelings, and those of these friends have been so wrung out over this that I almost feel I don't have the heart to meddle any more! I tried to help, was insulted, and now have put two families into the throes of emotional distress over this little boy. I wonder if more harm was done than good.

But......the plight of that little guy haunts me. I do have another family in mind.....who might like to take M. Do I call them?

ESTATE SALE

2011-07-01T05:08:00.000-07:00

I noticed a sign for an Estate Sale a couple of blocks away, and partly because I'd always wanted to see the inside of the house, I dropped in. It reminded me of a typical "grandparents" home - meaning nothing like my mom's spiffy, sweet-smelling, tidy and contemporary home at all - but like the homes of my grandparents, perhaps, or their relatives and friends. Actually, apart from the musty smell, a lot like the homey, quaint "20's feel" I aim for (and fail to obtain) in my own home. [OK - I just revealed one of my chief weirdnesses; I hope you'll still like me.]

In any case, I wandered through; things I liked were generally priced too high, and with our vacation coming up I needed to reserve all spare funds for that, so I passed up some nice embroidered runners (linens are a weakness), and antique cups and saucers (no more room in my china cabinet, anyway).

Down in the basement I found this collage of what appears to be senior portraits from around the turn of the last century, and it made me so sad. All of those bright young people, now all undoubtedly passed away, lives gone, forgotten. Forgotten. That's what made me sad. They had been filled with such anticipation when those photos were taken; someone loved them, cherished them. Now it was over; they were dead and no one wanted their pictures any more. "Past hope, past help, past care." (Which I think is a quote from some Shakespeare, though I couldn't say what.) I was feeling sad and nearly queasy pondering it all, though I had to realize that undoubtedly even the owners of this home - even if they were in their 90's, wouldn't have known these people; they were another generation back, at least. Then I considered - if these were portraits of my own high school friends, this collection would seem easy to part with. If my HS portrait were in the group, I'd be all the happier to have it disappeared. I was clearly getting far too melancholy and romantic about everything!

Still.....in the kitchen I paused over some china. I heard someone ask the sale coordinator if the couple had both passed away, "No! They decided to go live near their kids up north." Relief. My eye caught that of another woman browsing over items in the kitchen, and she articulated what I'd been feeling, "That makes me feel better, somehow." Yes, indeed; I'd been feeling quite a lot like one of the ragpickers out of A Christmas Carol!

WHEREIN I DO NOT HIJACK SOMEONE ELSE'S BLOG POST

2011-06-30T05:26:00.000-07:00

from Megan Seagren's Journal: http://blog.meganseagren.com/

Occasionally, I read a blog post that really gets my comment juices flowing....and when I get to the third or fourth paragraph of my "comment" I realize that it might be more appropriate to write my own post, rather than take over someone else's space!

Some moms have begun a new blog called Therapeutic Moments. It seems a more "upscale"effort than my blog, certainly - never lowering the level to the "uninteresting" or "mundane" the way I did yesterday. It provides personal examples, but isn't personal - if that makes any sense.

This a great essay! It certainly made me think about a lot of different issues related to food, health and parenting.

My husband was a PE teacher for years.  One nice thing about age and experience is that it provides one with a longer view....and over the years he began to see that some of his most fit students, talented HS athletes, ten years later might be spotted in the grocery store, loaded down with cases of beer resting on significant pot bellies. He realized that (as in the case of this writer) being an active, athletic teen does not translate to being a fit and active adult. PE classes typically used to (and most still do) emphasize only competitive activities (such as gymnastics) or team sports and games. And face it, even those who might like a lively volleyball game during gym class, are not very likely to seek out a volleyball team when they are out of school. That level of enthusiasm is generally reserved for those with "skills".  So Craig began to emphasize "lifetime sports"....things that will keep even a non-"athlete" or an uncompetitive person active.   So many kids either burn out on competitive sports, don't find opportunities to play after HS....and then they become couch potatoes, watching sports.

I used to pooh-pooh those who needed to join gyms to be active. But, lately I've realized how much of my job has begun to be at the computer - I don't even need to get up to check a reference book anymore, or run a note over to the office. Nope, just type in "dictionary.com" or e-mail an attachment. And, in the way we've seen throughout history "to whom more is given, more is expected" - no one seems to have more free time for physical activity because they can accomplish things so quickly via technology - no! there is just more to do. And, I am undoubtedly not alone in switching from spending free time with a healthy physical "break" - like taking a walk, to a less physically active one (like blogging, if you must know).

This writer also made me cringe, because I sound JUST like her mother; she could be quoting me....I was tempted to look around for microphones.  So I'm thinking "maybe that line doesn't work!" But, the thing is - teaching a child to "make good choices" doesn't necessarily work either. My mom did everything right, but somehow when it came to making my own food "choices" I don't do as well for myself. Despite the best training and example, despite food never being used as a reward, or becoming an "issue" at all in my growing-up home.... I managed to become a person who rewards herself with food treats. Fortunately, I don't like too much junky stuff (i.e. McDonalds) and unlike this writer, I don't live in a "food city" (to say the least)! But I'd always choose just about ANYTHING over fruit and vegetables - unless they are temptingly prepared (Panera's salads, for example!) Ice cream and doughnuts, rare treats in my childhood, seem to be frequent must-haves in my grown-up existence. Just last night I mentioned to my mom (90,looking much younger, fit and petite, weighing probably 100 lbs.) that I was going to stop and get some ice cream on the way home. She commented that she almost never eats ice cream. It shows. On both of us.

When you come right down to it, I wonder if we don't all have areas of our lives where we are intentional and thoughtful, and other areas where we are just reactive. I am very intentional about my spiritual life, and that of my children.... It is important to me to have a pleasing environment...and try hard to keep my house comparatively tidy. I am far more vigilant about choosing wholesome reading matter for my children, than wholesome food, for example. Now, this is not to say that I don't make an effort to give them wholesome food - I do - but giving them Kraft Mac and Cheese for lunch would not bother me nearly as much as reading aloud to them something that was poorly written.  I've been known to stop a few pages into a book, and despite my children's woeful outcries, have exclaimed "This is so poorly written I can't read it! Read it yourself if you must, but you'll have to dig it out of the wastebasket!" I put thought and care into things like grammar, cleanliness, kindness, manners; I put little into clothes, scheduling, cars, the yard.

But back to parenting - that's the problem.  Children simply do not reflect in any perfect way what parents try so hard to instill. My parents worked their tails off both by training, environment and perfect example to instill good financial and nutritional habits in me. It was like water off a duck's back, honestly. I wasn't in any way reactive against my parents' training - I certainly didn't reject it - like the author tends to reject her mother's emphasis on the life of the mind, or the way her mother rejected the debutant role that her mom cherished..... Their training simply didn't resonate in those areas the way it resonated in terms of keeping a neat house, having integrity or working hard.   When it comes to schoolwork or my job, I am a perfectionist - reflecting values I learned as child. When it comes to nutrition, I just follow my impulses most of the time, with my guilty conscience taking up the rear.

One of the fascinating things about having grown-up children is seeing the ways in which they were "molded" by me, and the ways in which they either rejected or don't think about what I tried to instill. It is gratifying that Aidan took our Catholic faith so strongly to heart. At this point, at least, for Lydia it seems - not quite so much. Both are readers (chalk one up for mom). Both value honesty and integrity. Both value humor. Neither seem to cherish history and tradition to the degree I hoped they would. Aidan shares my obsession with meaningful work. Lydia doesn't seem to care about that. Both seem to value physical fitness a lot more than I do - maybe they got that from what their dad taught (not so much what he does, to be honest).

So, we can and must do the best we can do as parents, but I guess I'm convinced that it certainly isn't an exact science! We just have to hope we don't blow up the lab.

EVERY POST DOESN'T HAVE TO BE BRILLIANT

2011-06-29T05:51:00.000-07:00

I struggle with the need to over-achieve. I intended this blog, originally, to just be a sort of journal...in fact, I think I wrote a post every day (perhaps that was simply another form of over-achieverment, though!). I don't think I used to feel compelled to be brilliant and insightful, though. Now I do. I am not satisfied with myself unless I am either sharing some insight, or relating an episode so dramatic that it will be engaging in and of itself. Perhaps I've been "fortunate" in having so many of those! Actually, I've had too many lately. Ironically, too often the things that would be most interesting to write about are the very ones that take up every waking moment! Oh! The stories I could tell! (If I had both the energy and the time.)

Meanwhile, this is a non-brilliant post. What I Did On My Summer Vacation

A week ago today, we (Sergei, Zhenya and I) went to Virginia to visit Aidan and Lydia. Lydia lives with her friend Marianne in Virginia Beach, and we headed there first. It turned out to be something like fifteen hour drive, so we stopped at a motel somewhere in Maryland.

As you can see, we only stay in the "best" places. I thought the dirty mattresses added to the ambiance in the vestibule. But, we just slept there, and then we were off! By early afternoon, we were at Lydia's house, and after showing us around, she took us to lunch at the restaurant where she works, Gordon Biersh.

Dear Lydia gave us a night in a hotel on the beach! What an amazing, lovely time! I haven't been near the ocean in years, and the boys never had been....

We had the typical fun - but because it was so new and different, it was more than fun.... Zhenya could hardly tear himself away from the water, and after a late dinner, Lydia went home, and Zhen and I spent another hour, at least, walking in the waves. I let Sergei go off and do likewise on his own. He loved it.

In the morning, we headed to the beach once again... The weather was perfect, warm but not too warm, sunny but not blazing. It was heavenly, and after a few hours enjoyment, Lydia led us to a wonderful place for brunch. There were two dishes I have to try at home - granola pancakes (I think you'd make regular pancakes, and just sprinkle a handful of granola on) and parmesan tomatoes. They grilled tomato slices with a spoonful of parmsan on top. Those are amazing!

But, too soon it was time to head to DC to see Aidan. There is a tunnel on the way out of Virginia Beach and we spent over an hour waiting to go through it; fortunately that was the worst of it. As we were heading toward the city, the rush hour traffic wasn't too terrible. But I will say that one of my chief impressions of the DC area is of congestion. Not just traffic congestion, but parking congestion, housing congestion. Aidan and Susan took us to California Pizza Kitchen for dinner - and I do not exaggerate when I say that we spent at least fifteen minutes circling round and round, round and round just trying to find a parking spot in the mall! I'm not sure I could stand to live like that.

It was wonderful, of course, to see Aidan and his family. Susan is the most wonderful daughter-in-law! She's gentle, sweet and such a patient, attentive mother - a heck of a lot better mom than I am!

On Saturday, Lydia and her gentleman-friend, Vance, arrived, and the whole passel of us took the metro to DC and visited the Smithsonian. Hate to say my main thought was how cool it was - just like "Night at the Museum"! We also saw the White House, from quite a distance....noteworthy was that we saw it amidst a group of Russian visitors.

The main purpose of our visit was Patrick's baptism on Sunday. Aidan's church is spectacular - a lovely, vibrant parish in the most gorgeous church building. I picked up lots of good ideas, just from wandering around. Though it has been two years since I was responsible for baptisms at STA, I still remember the rite by heart. The celebration was simple but lovely.....and Peej is now a Christian!

We left on Monday morning, and headed home. Looooong trip home, but drove the whole way so as not to miss meeting with Anastasia's therapist on Tuesday. My only disappointment was missing meeting up with blog friends Ginny and Julianne. Next time!

It was a splendid trip. Coming home was less salubrious.

JUMPING

2011-06-17T04:17:00.000-07:00

Zhen loves the trampoline. He got the idea of jumping with his big dog. I like that better than when he jumps with other kids - yesterday he had a big goose egg on his forehead from colliding with a neighbor boy.

I have a non-stop anxiety in the summer that I ought to be "doing something" and not allowing the kids to spend so much time on screens. The bigs have an x-box which gets lots of play by Sergei and Ilya, and their friends. Sergei spends a lot of time doing this and that on the computer....everything from looking at the menu of his favorite Sushi restuarant, to watching tutorials about dry-walling. Zhen is a Ruhnscape fanatic.....and Sergei and his neighborhood friend enjoy that, too. And, then, there is TV - Zhen loves cartoons and Mythbusters.

So, actually, I love to hear the exclamation - "Mom! I'm going to go jump!" Furthermore, I think it helps regulate all of them.

And, unlike soccer, their other favorite outdoor activity, there is no danger to the neighbor's window. We have a bit of an issue because there is a very crabby lady who lives across the street. We live on a quiet street and there is no problem with the kids playing soccer in the street - except that one lady has a FIT if the ball rolls even a foot onto her grass - and I have to tell you - there is nothing at all "special" about her lawn, and no bushes or flowers to be damaged. At most the ball might go a yard or two onto her grass - it is not like it goes near her porch or windows....I have to believe she is just an irritable soul. So, if she is in evidence, they'll play on the driveway - and that IS dangerous - to windows. We've replaced the neighbor's basement window twice and his garage door window twice. Fortunately, he doesn't actually live there; the house is empty most of the time.

Then, there's bikes. I'd hate to think how many bikes we've had stolen. I think all we have left is one very sub-standard specimen. Sergei's "good" bike was stolen when he rode it to the drugstore. He was only a moment, so didn't lock it...... Then, Ilya lay his in the front lawn and went to the garage, looking up to see a gang of kids steal his bike.... He ran in to get Craig to chase them down in the car, but between Ilya's rudimentary English at the time, and Craig's having been napping, no chase was forthcoming. Two more were stolen right out of our garage - when it was carelessly left open one night. So, at this point there is no exercise to be had bike-riding.

I was so much more protective of my older kids; I wouldn't even let them jump on a trampoline at a friend's house. I had Aidan keep his bike at the church because I thought East Lansing so much safer. Aidan and Lydia were not allowed to play, unsupervised, anywhere but the back yard. There was no way I'd let them go to the park without me, let alone walk to the party store!! I didn't allow TV watching, unless it was religous videos from the parish collection, or something on public TV. The Russians do all these things.

The common wisdom about parents "loosening up" is certainly true in my case. But I think there were two other things going on, as well. When you know your child has done way more perilous and on-his-own things in a far-distant and seemingly much more dangerous place, it seems oddly silly to be over-protective. Sergei and Ilya entertained themselves by jumping off roofs and out of second story windows into snowdrifts, for example - so, I should say a trampoline is too dangerous? Anastasia was living on her own, and foraging for food in a city nearly as big as ours - so, how can I say she can't take a run, or go to the playground in the park (a block away) on her own? Then, too, having been given more freedom, they are more self-confident and savvy, really. And they are all very strong and fit. They not only climb trees, they leap out of them. Zhen doesn't just jump on the trampoline, he is attempting to perfect a flying dismount. Yes. Onto dirt. OK - occasionally I am still shocked and horrified. And glad we are just a block from the hospital.

THE "UNVARNISHED TRUTH" OR - NOT?

2011-06-15T19:19:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd remember where I read it.....but I don't.... The blog with the discussion about what approach you'd take, talking to a parent about to adopt. The question was posed by a mom with a severely radish child. The first responder was all for "absolute honesty" (i.e. tell them how "bad" it can be.)

So, they want to provide "the whole, unvarnished truth"? From their point of view? But, I would argue that their point of view might not be "truth". Exactly. Their truth, maybe, but not everyone's.

I am glad and relieved that I didn't get that "talking to". If we hadn't first met Sergei in a hosting program, and all Craig had heard was the negatives, I'd be a sad woman today with an empty house. Men are not so ready to adopt, generally.....I wouldn't even be surprised if there wasn't some sort of biological thing working that makes men not-so-ready to father another man's progeny.  And often, I have the feeling, men agree to please their wives. Any little bit of information against the enterprise is going to be added to the dad's "con" list.

Had my husband had a clue about how difficult things could be he would have put his foot down. Yet, I cannot - CANNOT - imagine life without my children, every one of them. I don't think he can, either. When we first thought of adopting, Craig had had quite a career in child welfare - fifteen-some years working in youth homes, etc.  He knew "too much" to want to adopt from foster care.  In our state, especially at that time "family reunification" was all the rage, and by the time children were approved for adoption they'd been pretty well formed by the neglect and abuse in their unfit homes. Years of it.

What we didn't realize is that many internationally adopted children have endured similar traumatic pasts....and we certainly didn't understand (well, few did then) the critical importance of being nurtured in those first three years. But, not all adoptees had hard beginnings.

Sergei and Zhenya, and Ilya got the love they needed as babies. They are balanced, loving, kind, thoughtful people without the "issues" that some people seem to presume "come with" all adopted children. The stories that trauma mamas tell have little to do with them. But somehow that word "adopted" is like a magnet that seems to attract everyone's fears.

Having worked with families throughout my career as teacher and religious educator, I have seen many troubled, challenging and disabled children, with hosts of letters attributed to them.....I've seen parents weeping with despair over their beloved child's behavior, or lack of ability.... yet, if a stranger shared with one of these these moms that she was pregnant, whoever would expect these moms to "tell it like it is"? Probably because if there are problems with a biological child, the "fault" is laid at the foot of the parents. Adoptive parents can come off as heroic and patient and loving and so forth. Well, when I'm down, those accolades don't hurt....but in my heart I feel so sorry for the bioparents who not only endure the same embarrassment, humiliation, pain and sense of helplessness, but also have to feel responsibility - either through genes or poor parenting, for their child being a drug user, violent, or a bully, a hopeless student, or a cheat, or whatever.....

So, when someone tells me they are going to adopt - I am as thrilled for them as I am for the mom who tells me she is pregnant. I like to expect the best, then deal with anything else. And, too - a list of "behaviors" or "symptoms" are pretty unappealing - when they are associated with a person you love, well - it is something else, again.

On the other hand.... I can't help but think that there are people out there who really shouldn't adopt. Perhaps they don't have the self-control or the self-knowledge; maybe they don't have the flexibility, maybe they feel the need to be loved, or have an "ulterior motive" (however good) of saving a soul. I read somewhere that one of the little red flags for disruption is the primary goal of wanting to bring the child to Jesus. Perhaps, with that worthy motive foremost, these people can't understand that some children who experienced early trauma CANNOT easily trust - they can't even trust the person they see, let alone the God they don't see. And they've never known LOVE, so they don't know HIM, and that takes time, and the most self-sacificing kind of love on the part of the parents.

And, then there are those folks who expect the child to be grateful (ha-ha-ha!)   Adopted children are generally no more grateful than bio children....and no more grateful than most of us are to our Heavenly Father. I have to admit that supplication takes a far greater proportion of my prayer time than thanks and praise..... yet, we expect our children to "Stop asking for things!" We want them to be satisfied, and to be thankful, too. Has God ever snapped at me, "Stop asking for things!"   I guess not (or maybe I was too busy whining to hear Him).

Marriages end in divorce. Jobs we pray for can turn into traps we long to escape. Houses can feel like money-pits instead of cozy homes. Children do not always live up to our dreams for them. Adoption can be difficult. And, while we might be tempted to give some loving advice, or share what we've learned through our own experience (if asked), usually I think we should share others' joyful anticipation and keep our own counsel.... We do not know what God has in store for them.

PERP WALK

2011-06-10T06:16:00.000-07:00

From http://www.demotivationalposters.org/ - I love these.

Scary times. Sorry, this is a long post, which is why I've avoided it.

Miss Nastia has had a rough couple of months, to say the least.

I can see how it happened - in fact, I could see it as it happened - it's been a kind of slow-motion train wreck.   I think I might have saved the situation early on, but wasn't clear-sighted enough. I was also unaware of a key trigger or two - ones so obvious that this post is a kind of perp walk. I blew it.

Even though - even though I posted a few times previously about how disturbing it was for Anastasia when, in December, her beloved and perfect-for-her teacher, Mrs. Allen, was let go - despite knowing on one level how bad this was for her.....   I really did not know how bad this was for her.   This teacher was someone she had come to trust completely.

Here was where I think I made my mistake. I took Anastasia to visit Mrs. Allen's new school.....But, transportation issues, and other logistics seemed to argue against this solution, and when Anastasia hated this new environment, to the point of seemingly refusing to attend ("I'll run away", etc.) I gave in. I suppose on some level, I don't know how we would have managed all of the hurdles, practical and emotional - I simply know that it would have been better. Instead she "moved up" and joined the 7/8 class at Summit.

Unfortunately, the secondary end of our school became more and more chaotic as the year went on. Unpaid teachers left. Children were left in "study halls", unsupervised - not even on a regular basis, but randomly. Teachers would come, and go. This is why I took on more, way more than I should have, teaching almost all the classes that the 7/8 kids had - except for math and science. PE teacher left, Spanish teacher left, science teacher left. During the last month, if I wasn't there, or they weren't in math, they were pretty much on their own. Now, these are really good kids. But, that sort of structureless social scene was the worst possible situation for Anastasia as all trauma mamas will clearly recognize. Add to this, that since I was giving so much time to Summit, I had to work late into the night and all day and night on the weekends, to do my real job. I thought "well, Anastasia sees me during the day...." I didn't quite understand that she felt abandoned by me at home and at school.

I was too stupid to realize that what I so erroneously thought of as "being with" her  - was a trigger in and of itself. Only in a recent therapy session did I see that for Anastasia, seeing me give the other children lots of love and attention in the classroom was like sandpaper grating on her soul. Add to this that at school she wanted nothing more than to have friends and be accepted, but the more she wanted it the crazier she was acting.....and, well.....there you have it.

Then, a week or so before school was out, a high school boy called her a "Russian wh*re", and for the first time ever, Anastasia "lost it" in school. One great thing about Anastasia is that she has always been a wonderful student. School has always been the safe and structured place where she could achieve. No more, obviously. I was not there, when this occurred (it was during unstructured time, wouldn't you know). But, Craig called me at work to come and get her.

Here, I'll make a very long story short, and say that this incident was followed by a week or more of her /staying at home/getting it together/begging to go back to school/losing it again/sitting at my office while I taught at Summit/going to school/losing it again......and so forth, until the day she lost it so badly that she clearly should not have come back. Yet, I took pity on her and let her come back to say "goodbye" to her girl friends one final sixth hour. Didn't I say this was a perp walk? How stupid could any one person be?

She was immediately overwhelmed, but spent that hour trying to regulate herself by doing some art, while everyone else did English. She didn't totally lose control until school was over and the anger was directed at me. She refused to get in my car and said she was going to "walk somewhere". Well, knowing that walking can often soothe her, and my chasing her down or attempting to force her into the car would do the absolute opposite, I figured the best thing was to let her walk. It is maybe three miles to my office, and Anastasia knows the way. She also had her phone.  She stomped out of school and set forth; I followed in my car and when I caught up with her, I saw she was walking, safely, against the traffic. What argued against my letting her go was that the first mile or so, she'd have to walk along the commercial route of a highway without sidewalks. However, there is a decent shoulder and small businesses line the road, the speed limit is 55, and there really isn't a day when we don't see someone walking along there.  It was clearly not optimal, but it did seem better than the alternative - having a physical altercation with her.

Now, to this day I believe that a) she would have been perfectly safe and b) she would have walked to my office and c) by the time she got there, she would have been regulated again. However - I didn't count on loving-kindness.

One of the moms from school saw her walking and stopped, and tried to get her into her van - and as luck would have it this was the mom with the boy who'd started off the whole spiral with his "Russian wh*re"comment, and his sister, one of Anastasia's classmates .  Anastasia wouldn't get in. They tried to force her. As this was happening, in a strange coincidence, along comes my friend Edita, who adopted a girl from Anastasia's orphanage. Edita sees someone trying to get Anastasia into their car, and Anastasia resisting. Of course she stopped and tried to help - but now we had embarrassment added to Anastasia's bucket, and the inability to say anything that would explain her desperate need, at that moment, to be left alone!   Obviously, these ladies did just what any reasonable, caring, loving person would do. Unfortunately, it resulted in massive amounts of flammable liquids being poured on Anastasia's little fire.

The thing is, I can really feel Anastasia's desperation. She was barely hanging on by a thread and the only cures she could grasp at - solitude and rhythmic exercise - were being ripped away with a big blast of all the things that inflamed her to begin with - the name-calling boy, the girls who don't include her, add a dash of orphanage-memory and public humiliation. My heavens! The poor kid. She tried to run away from them, and Edita (again, doing the reasonable thing) called the police. Now we had the biggest trauma blast of all - Anastasia's memory of the police coming to remove her from her mother. Whether she remembers any of it correctly or not - her memories have consistently been of her being forcefully taken into a police car while her mother was threatened with being shot if she didn't allow it.

It helped me, at least, that the police were not Lansing police. They were kind, helpful, understanding, but because she was throwing out her "I want to kill myself." line, they had no choice but to take her to the hospital. All in all, that might have been a good thing. I can't imagine them handing her off to me in that state working well. However, she did text, begging me to come and get her.

So, off I went in an out-of-body state, to the hospital. By the time I got there, she was - well, there is hardly a word for it. Honestly, if I were merely an onlooker, there is no way that I would not have had that child taken off to the psych hospital.

Not since her visit here as a six year old, have I seen anything like it.....and then she was small and speaking in Russian.  When she stood up straight, hand on hip, adopting the voice and superior, scornful tone of a soap-opera villainess - it was even amusing. "Where did she learn this?" we laughed. Was it from TV?  Surely not her mother? We didn't know, but she seemed quite the little actress.  Little did we envision a tall, thirteen-year old doing the same thing, in English - it is as horrible a thing as you can imagine. Every vulgar word, every obscenity, every vile accusation poured from her lips - and the posture, the tone......it was beyond horrible to see her snarl and hurl vulgarities at the policeman, the doctor, the nurses. (To say nothing about the things she said to me!)

God was with us, though, in a couple of ways. Can you believe that the attending physician had sister adopted from Guatemala? One who had rough times before sorting herself out?   And, I also had scheduled a session with Billy at House Calls Counseling for the next day.   Otherwise, honestly - I think she might have been directed to an inpatient setting. As it was, they gave her a shot of something [that I wish I had on tap at home] and let us leave. As they were giving her the shot, they sent me from the room to fill out paperwork. I heard her screaming and crying, "I want my mama! Let my mama come in here! Mother!!!!!!" It was odd to get such satisfaction from that.

So, they let me bring my limp little daughter home, and put her to bed. And the next day we drove to Chicago.   To be continued......

SHORT TAKES SUNDAY

2011-06-05T06:09:00.000-07:00

Since this format was so underwhelming for my readers last time, I fgured "why not do it again?" Well, actually, I think I'll do this more often because there are a lot of little things that are never mentioned simply because they can't be "developed" sufficiently.

One of the best bloggers in the world is up for an award - and she really loves awards. If you don't read Essie at The Accidental Mommy, you really should. And, you should definitely vote for her. Christine at Welcome to My Brain already has enough self-esteem. However, Christine's blog is also awesome, so maybe you'd prefer to vote for her. Funny, though, I "checked out" a few of the other 23 nominees, and was less than overwhelmed, at those I've looked at so far - as in "woudn't bother to go back". But, I don't like Hemmingway, either, or Faulkner - and that doesn't mean they aren't splendid authors - just goes to show there's a blog style for everyone.

I don't, actually spend all that much time every day blogging or reading blogs. I really don't. Or, it seems like I don't But, the time I do spend adds up, I'm sure. I am just wondering why I no longer have time for some really valuable things I used to love - reading for one. Embroidery. Sewing. Walking. Why? I can't quite fgure it out. My older kids kept me busy, too - and much of the time I was homeschooling one of them, and I spent hours and hours driving to Irish Dance lessons and competitions. I just don't quite get it, but the above are things I really want to "add back" somehow.

A sweet adoption story: One of the little boys on Zhenya's basketball team is adopted. His mom is Hispanic, while his dad is blonde. Their son, "Scotty" has pale skin and blonde hair, and really looks a lot like his dad. As part of a school project Scotty drew a self-portrait. He drew himself in his basketball uniform, and colored his skin a soft brown. His teacher over-heard a classmate asking about this, and Scotty exclaimed, "Well I used brown because I'm half-Mexican!"

I have an issue with spiders, to say the least. How "upset" I get at seeing a spider depends on a few variables: size, how much it impinges on my space, the way it moves and type. I really don't even like to discuss this, because I get physically sick just thinking about them. So, imagine my horror, when the other day as I am securely seat-belted into my car, across the ledge in front of me comes a spider - yes; right up close to me, in the car, while I'm trapped. By the grace of God, I was not driving, but had just pulled into a parking lot and was talking on the phone. OK. Give me credit. I....did....not....panic. I kept talking in a businesslike fashion while grasping somewhat desperately at first the seatbelt, and then the door handle. But, as I opened the door, that *&($% thing JUMPED onto my leg! OK, at that point "businesslike" went out the window and I screamed. While leaping from the car, of course, and hopping about like mad. Actually, I had Maxim with me and was conducting some important business on his behalf (helping him rent an apartment) so he was none too happy to have me lose my grip, so to speak. And, the scream wasn't the end of it, of course. There were a number of histerical pleas for Maxim to "get it!!!" And, Maxim, love his heart! Despite his dismay, as usual in a crisis he could be counted on. He found the subject of my terror and dispatched it, and then [imagining, I think, what might have happened had I actually been driving] offered, in a gentleman-like fashion to drive himself.

I really love cookies. Actually, I love them so much better than anyone else in my family, it means that I really can't make them often because I eat almost all of them. They will actually walk past a plate of cookies and not take one. I cannot do this.

A few days ago, a bunch of the secondary kids at Summit went on an outing to a Tent Revival in a little town out in the country. One thing I learned from this is what a great mimic Sergei is. He gave us a really fine rendition of a Southern Baptist Preacher, and I was all the more impressed because he's not ever experienced anything at all like this - it just isn't the Catholic way. He was listening, though, and we got a good discussion out of it.

As you can tell, I didn't mind Sergei finding the dramatic nature of the preaching fascinating, and slightly startling. But, he did take the subject [hell] seriously and wanted to compare and contrast the Catholic way of discussing such topics. Anastasia, on the other hand (in a separate conversation) scoffed mightily and loudly proclaimed her dismissal of God and anything religious. Actually, she did it with more fervor than she does it after Mass. I am not quite sure what that means. I hope, and I rather think, that if she can come someday to feel lovable, she will open her heart to the God who loves her. I pray she will.

COUNTER-INTUITIVE PARENTING

2011-06-02T04:56:00.000-07:00

I think that I may have simplified, in my own mind at least, a key to parenting children with early trauma. (or RAD, if you prefer) So often the challenge is to find a clear and fairly brief way to explain to the "uninitiated" the reason why I am not seeming to "parent" my radish child - at least not in the way that seems "common sense" to the onlooker.

Perhaps I am simple-minded, but somehow getting a grip on some easy image helps me to remember, in the heat of battle (so to speak) how to respond. If I still need a little kernel of truth to keep me correctly oriented, how can I expect the onlooker to understand?

When I first received my "awakening" it was in the midst of a crisis with Maxim. I'd picked the poor kid up late again, and instead of hopping into the car gratefully, as I'd expected, he started using profanity and calling me names and even kicking the dashboard, etc. I wound myself up to ADDRESS the situation with a firm, authoritative "How dare you speak to me like that, young man?!" when God slapped me across the side of the head and presented me with an image. Instead of the angry teen, I suddenly saw a terrified little dog. And is a terrified dog attractive? No. In fact, a terrified dog looks like an angry, dangerous dog - snarling, hair standing up, claws bared, salivating, teeth showing, ready to attack. I've learned that you see beyond that with an animal; you understand the fear, the instinct for self-preservation in that body language. In that moment God allowed me to see the fear behind the aggressive behaviors in my foster son. And, the moment I began to console, to speak quietly, and yes - to apologize......suddenly things calmed, the growling stopped, the hair laid down, and I could pet that scared and shaking little animal. What remains in my mind as most remarkable, is how once I started calming him, Maxim actually allowed himself to be petted..... I stroked his hair, and told him how stupid I'd been, and helped him see that he had every reason, based on his past experiences, to react that way when someone didn't pick him up. How stupid I had been! This miracle - both in terms of God's intervention, and the impact my changed attitude had - has informed my parenting ever since.

But, can you believe that even so, I still find myself falling back on the parenting approaches that "come naturally?" So calling up the image and the idea of the child as a frightened animal can keep me on track.

Recently another very simple idea presented itself to me - one that again, helps me clarify in my mind why the counter-intuitive response is best, but better yet helps me to easily explain it to others.

I realized that ordinary punishments - and by that I think I can really include everything from a short whap on the behind to a time-out, to the typical removal of a privilege - all rest on the foundation of trust and love between the child and the adult. On a very basic level, the parent and the child crave unity once again. [For my Catholic readers - it even strikes me that the punishment or consequence stands very much in the same place as a penance in the Sacrament of Confession.] If the child accepts the punishment, he realizes that it "blots out the offense" so to speak. It makes everyone whole. Hopefully, from the parents' point of view, it is also a learning experience. From the child's point of view it hurts, but is "right". Oh, children chafe under punishments - how I remember doing so myself! Yet, eventually, I'd recognize my fault, accept my penance (so to speak) and all could be "made up". Even that phrase "making up" seems to refer to a fault and an action meant to undo it.

But that entire process is dependent on the prior relationship. It is depndent on trust and love. Trust that the parents love the child and know best, and love which demands that a sense of unity be restored.

The child who comes from early neglect and trauma never learned that most foundational concept - that adults (and by association all authority figures) have their best interests at heart. Stop and think - how could they believe that? They go hungry, they are left cold, they experience care that is random and violence equally random. How can that lead to trust? Neither is there love, because the child's love is in response to the parent's love. And, perhaps trust is a precursor to love, in any case.

Thus, the radish child doesn't see punishment as for their own good. (I'd contend that most children, even very young ones, because of those very early infant lessons, on some level understand that everything the parent does is a form of care for them.) Neither does the radish child have a sense of unity with the parent that cries out to be restored, when damaged or broken. Punishment cannot be accepted by this child as either any kind of "good" or as a way of restoring relationship.

Punishment is perceived as a threat. There were no early infant-lessons to teach trust, rather the child learned that he must watch out for himself. The adult may even be perceived by some children as the enemy, as surely as fire, or deep water, or a barking dog might seem threatening to a normal child, the adult is likewise threatening to the child who received only or mostly hurt from adults in those first weeks, months and years.

This idea dawned on me first when I saw how Ilya responded to punishment. In his early days, when he was small, Craig in exasperation resorted to a whap on his behind and an attempt to take him by the arm and direct him toward the door (or chore, or whatever). But, Ilya, rather than respond in a chastened way, as expected - as our bio children would have responded - instead, reacted like a person being attacked by a masked intruder. I could see the adrenaline and the fear-for-life come over him. Craig, still in "regular parenting" mode, where the parent must retain authority - made some further attempt to physically restrain Ilya - nothing violent or threatening mind you - just physically directive, two hands on his shoulders to push him toward the door, something like that. But Ilya was already in fight-for-your-life mode. I could see clearly that there was nothing we could have done to "win" via using force. All in an instant it was clear as anything had ever been to me that no amount of force, no weapon, no level of anger or "autoritativeness" would have prevailed because Ilya was fighting for his life and he would have died before he would have given in. That was the day when I realized why children die at the hands of their parents. Oh, I am sure that there are parents who are abusive and working out their demons on their child. But that day I saw how easy it would be for well-intentioned parents, especially those inculcated in the idea of the importance of "parental authority", to end up killing their child. Particularly their adopted child. Because the child who never attached to an adult, neither trusts them nor loves them. And when that is absent the parents simply do not have "authority" any more than a masked intruder has authority. Both are perceived as threats.

Well, you're thinking - that was not a short explanation, Mrs. Kitching! No; once I understood it from the inside, I came up with a short form something like this: Thanks, for your advice. That would have worked with my bio child, But XXX didn't learn to trust adults as an infant, so she perceives ordinary discipline as a threat. And I attempt to smile (or at least keep a stiff upper lip) in a situation that once would have reduced me to tears of humiliation and embarrassment. And I may even add, In some ways she is not unlike a little wild animal, and I need to be the "child-whisperer".

Well, at least they buy the "wild animal" part.