Category Archives: post adoption

testing, testing, uno-dos-tres

Posted on by September 3, 2013


The woodstove was glowing, smoke drifting slightly west from our chimney, and the snow was piling up almost as fast as the books on my to-read list. We were almost totally thawed last week until Saturday, when it started snowing and didn’t stop until a few days ago. People called it Merry Springmas.  

…WINTER WEATHER ADVISORY FOR SNOW REMAINS IN EFFECT UNTIL NOON
AKDT TUESDAY…

* LOCATION…MATANUSKA VALLEY.

* SNOW…ADDITIONAL SNOW ACCUMULATION 3 TO 7 INCHES THROUGH NOON
ON TUESDAY.

* TIMING…SNOW WILL INCREASE THIS EVENING INTO THE EARLY
OVERNIGHT. SIGNIFICANT SNOW ACCUMULATIONS WILL PERSIST THROUGH
TUESDAY MORNING. MINOR ADDITIONAL ACCUMULATIONS OF SNOW ARE
POSSIBLE THROUGH TUESDAY NIGHT.

This came after the last advisory of 8-14 inches, which came after the alert from Saturday that I can’t remember the details of. The total at our house was 17 inches…less than some, more than others.


Our cats curled up together like quotation marks. The grill wore a chef’s hat. 

The kids practiced their theatrical skills and tried to convince each other they were waist deep

or more

and required assistance

before they had to swim to safety.


Just a few days before, the streets were dry. Mattie and Iree had testing and the rest of us had time to kill while we waited for them to finish. 

 We threw snowballs at each other,


 raised a ruckus at the library, 

stomped in puddles…


fell in puddles…


…and woke up at 7 am for three days straight and lived to tell about it. Miracles do happen. 

We drank a lot of coffee. At the post-testing celebratory lunch with Grandpa at Sophia’s Cafe, I discovered…Greek coffee.

“Greek coffee?” I asked the waitress. “What makes it Greek?”

“Well…I’ve heard people say that it’s like 16 cups of coffee in one cup.”

“I’ll take one of those.”

I just like watching my dad’s eyebrows go up.


This week, as the snow is re-melting, falling off the trees like glacial calving when the sun hits it, we’ve had more testing of a different sort. We had an appointment on Monday that was awesome (yay!) except that in spite of my warnings, our child with the most attachment issues was doted on for a 30-minute gig and we’ve been reaping the consequences ever since. For example: if a child acts like he’s…limping…right after he’s has his blood drawn, you can bet he is practicing his, ah, theatrical skills, also. Please. And while that is kind of funny, everything else we’ve been dealing with post-fawning-appointment has not been. We’ve been swimming for safety all week.

{Unless you are the parent, gushing over a child with attachment issues is a huge no-no, and those who do it are not the ones who have to deal with the aftermath later. Egad, Holmes!}

We are learning to assert boundaries with people in the community and trying really hard to teach those who need to understand what it is that we are dealing with. We have had to be taught, too, and we are still learning so much. Usually it’s wonderful, but this time it wasn’t, and we will start again when this blows over.

We did learn some exciting news though. Eight months home, and Reagan has gained 6 1/2 pounds. Andrey has grown almost 2 1/2 inches.


The fact that Reagan has gained so much weight is particularly notable since she lost almost a pound of hair when we cut it a few weeks ago. 

But the real miracle is that she still has both ears and no injuries, because she is quite a…shall we say, mover and shaker? and jerked this way and that way, wings flapping, the entire time. It didn’t help that this lady showed up at the back door, either.

 

Reagan was flapping like she’d had the Greek coffee. I snipped some quick layers and put away the scissors for everyone’s safety.


It’s Saturday as I write this and homemade macaroni and cheese is in the oven for our almost-sacred movie night. The superfluous testing has eased up over the last day or two and this is the first day I haven’t had to swim for shore all week. Which is wonderful, because I hate swimming. I’m convinced we weren’t meant to do it.


We were meant to walk on water.


a progress report, of sorts

Posted on by September 4, 2013

I have some notes about what I wanted to write tonight. The cat is sitting on them. I tried moving them a little, and she moved too – she’s persistent like that – and I can’t bear to move her because she’s my buddy. Let me work from memory and see what happens…

We’ve been fighting the crud around here (you too?), and have been trying to get together with friends for a couple of weeks. With as many kids as we have added all together, we are waiting for that magical moment when the temperatures align and all nine to thirteen children are not seriously puking, fevering, ear-aching, or otherwise immovable.

Chamberlain went to bed last night with the sniffles and woke up in the middle of the night with a spider (the invisible, imaginary, dream world sort). Except she was stuffy and Vin had no idea what she was saying (“Dere’s a ‘pider id by bed ad cad you ‘quish it? Ad I also wat by Bob and Warry busic back on…”). I translated, he got up, squished the imaginary spider, and turned on a VeggieTales CD. Five minutes later Reagan was crying and it was my turn. Except usually I don’t have to take a turn. In almost seven months, this is only the second time Reagan has gotten up in the middle of the night. Both times she was sick with a cold – once when we first came home (day two or three?), and then last night.

 

And you know what was amazing and wonderful about this?

The first time she woke up in the middle of the night, she was coughing terribly and couldn’t breathe very well, and I couldn’t do a thing about it but pray. I tried to comfort her and she screamed. I tried to help her blow her nose and she panicked. I urged her to take a drink of water and she sobbed…the more I tried, the worse she got. I finally went back to bed that night and listened to her cry herself to sleep after I left the room.

But last night?

She called me mama. I helped her blow her nose. I put vapo-rub on her feet (you know this will stop coughing, don’t you?) and peppermint oil on her chest and forehead and she laid back, safe and content. As I shut the door, she said, “Ni-night, Mama…” and fell asleep happy, not quite seven months later.

 

A year ago we were in the city that rhymes with seven. It was our first week with Andrey, just meeting him. This week now, in our part of Alaska, the weather is very similar to what it was last year, in that city in Bulgaria. I woke up this morning and could feel the same-ness of it from the light in the sky and the waving bare branches.

 

This week last year, we heard Andrey say two sentences on his own, maybe. This week, this year, he is getting in trouble for having his favorite stuffed animal on the table at mealtimes, and he argues about it. “But Koosten is huuungry! See? Koosten saying,” – insert squeaky voice – “I’m hungry!” Yep.

Around this time last year, the only one who could translate for Chamberlain was Iree. Now, almost all of us can almost always tell what she’s saying (with the exception of middle of the night, stuffy-nosed conversations). For example, the “veggietor” is not a reptile, it’s the veggie store. An eye is an eye, an “oo” is an ear, two oos means two ears, and we all know that. She is also reveling in her new ability to pronounce the L sound with a flourish…when she’s not too stuffy.

“Llllook!” she says at the lunch table. She holds up her sandwich: “It’s a dwagon!” Another bite. “Oh! Now it’s a lllion!” Another bite. “It’s a kitty, with two oos!” Another bite. “Oh, a kitty with one oo!”

You should be glad we don’t feed her pop tarts.

(you might also be glad that we homeschool…)

 

A year ago, I thought we had a pretty good handle on potty humor. Fast forward to this year, when a few days ago I asked a certain child to add 87 + 5, and he started to answer, “Ninety–” but was interrupted by musical noises that can only be produced by small boys after eating too much chili. Older brother answered for him, though. The answer, of course, was…

Ninety-toot.

introducing grace

Posted on by September 4, 2013

It’s a fleeting spring day. We will have snow several more times, probably at least one more cold spell, and the weather will hem and haw its muddy way through the next couple of slushy months until we are dried out and blooming again.

 

But for today, we had sun. We ran errands in forty degrees and felt free without hats and mittens. Vin took most of the kids shopping while I took two of the girls to a local ice cream joint because Iree had earned a special treat. For just over $6, we ate mint chocolate chip and fireweed honey and chatted with tourists.

They asked if I recommended the ice cream, what fireweed jam tastes like, and what the heck a lingonberry is. They asked if I lived here. They asked if I was born here. They did not (amazingly enough) ask if I personally knew any political figures from here (wow!) which is probably the saving grace that kept me from pointing out the bumper sticker on the nearby rack that said, “Alaska is FULL. I hear the Yukon is lovely, though.”

Really, they were nice. Then they mentioned that they were sad to be leaving because it looked like it was almost spring here. “Actually,” I tried to tell her, “our spring is not really ‘spring.’ It’s muddy and messy and gross. It smells bad and looks terrible.”

She nodded with condescending expertise. “Oh, I know. It’s just like that at home, in Pennsylvania.”

Oh. Of course. Yes, I’m sure…it’s just like that. Pardon me.

Smile, wave bye-bye, and leave. Just like that, easy.

Everyone wants to be an expert. Everyone wants a little respect for knowing something. We’re all guilty. Usually it’s harmless.

Sometimes it’s not.

Our kids go swimming once a week, and next door is a place I’ve been curious about for a while. Our social worker mentioned it for our adoption and I thought I’d stop in just to check it out.

{have you ever done that, and left wishing that you had made an appointment to have all your teeth removed instead?}

I had Chamberlain and Reagan with me. We walked in and were greeted by the receptionist.

“Hi,” I said. Smile. “We finalized our adoption six months ago and I just wanted to look around here. Is that okay?”

“Are you having any problems?”

Um. Well. That’s a loaded question and I had no idea how to answer. So I fumbled with, “No…not really…well, just the normal stuff. Whatever normal is, anyway…” and I smiled again, hoping she understood.

She didn’t…but it was worse than not understanding. Instead, she knew all about us, and there was no correcting her.

“Six months home? Oh, you’re just fine. You’re still in the honeymoon. Let me show you the library we have here.”

“Actually, our honeymoon was over after three days with one of them, and we never had a honeymoon with the other,” I said.

She is looking at Chamberlain and doesn’t try very hard to hide the fact that she’s rolling her eyes at what I just said. “No, you’re still in it. Trust me. Just wait, it’ll get worse.”

Oh. Thank you so much.

Then she talked to me about books for adopting toddlers. And adopting from Russia. She never once asked how old the children were, where we adopted from, or how many other children we have. She obviously assumed that the children I had with me were both adopted and both toddlers, and since they were both white we had probably adopted from Russia.

Ohhhh. Of course.

I smiled. I really tried, at least…I think I was smiling. And I asked her, “Have you adopted?”

She straightened up a little. “Um, no. No, I haven’t…but I’ve done guardianship. Yep, I’ve been through it allll with attachment.”

Yes. Yes, of course you have. Except you haven’t, I thought, and left. Smile, wave bye-bye, and leave.

I felt like I’d been puked on by someone who was supposed to be there as a resource and instead was there only to inflate her own ego. It’s not the first time we’ve seen this in the adoption process...or the medical field…or anywhere.

We assume so much, and often know so little.

A while back, in an extremely rare situation, Vin was scheduled to work until the wee hours of the morning. I knew I was going to bed alone, locking up alone, turning off lights and tucking in kids by myself. I know that many married women do this often for a variety of reasons but I am not one of them. I made the best of it and thought I’d get some writing done, some primping done, and go to bed at a reasonable hour…say, 1 am. Maybe two.

Ha.

I’m obviously not responsible enough to put myself to bed at a reasonable hour. So after procrastinating for two hours, I stayed up until 3 am blogging, writing, and eating ridiculous amounts of ice cream. I felt safe, really. I can imagine few things more terrifying for an intruder than to be met with an Alaskan woman wearing an avocado mask, on a sugar high, with a .44 in one hand and her knitting needles in the other.

We had a situation over the last year that kept us on our toes, tightly sealed, and on the alert for months. We were on the lookout and on our knees for someone who had demanded more grace than most of us had left.

There are people that are presumptuous and intrusive and insincere, lacking boundaries and wanting camaraderie. Instead they are met with grace. People who willfully put themselves in a corrupt situation that hurts others, seeking acceptance and even hoping for approval. What they are getting is grace.

Maybe they don’t even know the difference.

My heart knows the difference, though. And my heart feels better when I am giving grace instead of giving in…or getting even.

 

“Oh, Mrs. Clennam, Mrs. Clennam,” said Little Dorrit, “angry feelings and unforgiving deeds are no comfort and no guide to you and me. My life has been passed in this poor prison, and my teaching has been very defective; but, let me implore you to remember later and better days. Be guided only by the healer of the sick, the raiser of the dead, the friend of all who were afflicted and forlorn, the patient Master who shed tears of compassion for our infirmities. We cannot but be right if we put all the rest away, and do everything in remembrance of Him. There is no vengeance and no infliction of suffering in his life, I am sure. There can be no confusion in following him, and seeking for no other footsteps, I am certain!”

– Charles Dickens, Little Dorrit


I’m learning that grace looks different in different circumstances. For example, in some cases we can smile and nod…and that’s grace.

In other cases, we can forgive…and also decide ahead of time that if a certain situation occurs, we will make every effort to aim judiciously and…and…only shoot the intruder in the leg, instead of a more vital area.

And that’s grace, too.