Karen's Journey

Three years ago today Hubs and I legally became the parents of T. We weren't aware of this fact for another week, since it happened in a courtroom in Addis Ababa where the head of the orphanage signed the paperwork with our power of attorney. But it is the day his uncle -- "Gashe" -- stood before the judge, swore that both parents were deceased (the facts of the case are in doubt in our minds), and relinquished him forever from his birth family. T hates this adoption day. We used to try to celebrate it, but he hates it. He knows that it's the day he lost his birth family forever. In adoption terms, this type of anniversary is a traumaversary. Traumaversaries are sad and sad is scary so it goes straight to angry, which means we all go into survival mode. It's especially tough that it falls right around the holidays. Our kids' brains are in permanent survival mode and the hype around the holidays puts them into overdrive. Things are not as they usually are -

This is what brain drain sounds like: Me: Do you want macaroni and cheese or pizza for lunch? T: What's macaroni and cheese? Me: Those candy canes are hard to get out of the box. Bring them to me; I'll help you. T: Why? Me: I had to bring a gift in for Ms. (name of the teacher assistant in his classroom) T: Who's that? T, on a snowy day: Why does the road look different? Me: How do you mean, "different?" T: Well, all the things that are usually white are covered with brown stuff. (slush) T deliberately puts his boots on the wrong feet. T deliberately puts a polo shirt on backward. And then acts dumb when it's pointed out. "What's wrong with my boots? Why do I need to look at how I have my boots on?" Me: Go find a pair of shorts and put them on. T: Why are they called that? Me: Because they are short pants. So shorts. For short pants. Shorts. T: But why are they called that? Me: Time to read your Book Bu

So here's how it goes down with me treating myself to an M&M every time T is disrespectful or argumentative with me or outright lies -- knowing full well he's making it up -- about something I supposedly told him: T: Jumps up and down and argues with me about something very stupid, so stupid I can't even remember, but he sure didn't want to respect me and take direction from me. Me: Oh, THANK YOU for letting me have this treat. (I eat an M&M, which I have a bag of stashed in my pocket). I LOVE IT when you do something that lets me have such a yummy treat. T: Mommy's going to get even fatter! Me: Oh, THANK YOU for saying something mean to me. I LOVE IT when you say something that lets me have such a yummy treat. And, oh, by they way, SIT IN THAT CHAIR until I tell you you can get up.

Okay, I needed this one right now. About "Why You're Never Failing as a Mother." http://www.huffingtonpost.com/amy-morrison/motherhood_b_2271349.html Even though she refers to "babies" I can apply everything she says to "older adopted children." I'm doing the best I can. In a society that most certanily doesn't understand anxious attachment and early childhood developmental trauma and hits us with the double whammy of unreasonably high expectations: your child is taking swimming lessons, ice skating lessons, and is in ski club, but you didn't sign  him up for lacrosse/soccer/hockey/African drumming/Irish step dancing? Oh, and no more than 20 minutes of screen time per day -- between TV, Nintendo, and computer games -- even educational computer games -- do you know how much Flintstones and Hogan's Heroes and Three Stooges and Yogi the Bear and Bullwinkle and Addams Family and The Munsters and Captain Kangaroo I watched while my mot

A week ago Sunday was not our best day. To understate it. We went to our town's fire department for the annual Pancake Breakfast with Santa. They really do it up with home fries, eggs, sausage -- although no veggie sausage --, toast, coffee, orange juice, and of course...pancakes. It's a lot of food for not a whole lot of money. And my guess is although you have to take your own photos of your child with Santa, it's way cheaper than paying for "professional" photos with Santa in the mall. And I don't do malls. Last year breakfast with Santa was the one Christmas related activity that T handled well. Even though we had to go twice, because we forgot the camera on the first round. So I was lulled into a false sense of optimism. We managed to get the camera in the car, but hubs, who was sitting with the camera, forgot to actually take it out of the van. Which was probably good, because then he wouldn't have been able to sprint after the list that T had

Here we are, four kids, our significant others, and all our kids, squished into 2100 square feet of house for five days. My mother turned 80 on Monday, so in addition to Thanksgiving, we are celebrating that momentous occasion with a dinner out tonight, which means an extra long stay for us. We know better. We know the dysregulation that comes with endless hours of movie watching and other screen time. But it was either two day trips out in one week or just stay here and make the best of it. T's big cousins brought out their Wii system. And T took to it like a fish takes to water. Yesterday he was playing even after everyone had wandered away. So I thought I would pick up one of the remotes and play with him. It was the first chance I'd had at sitting with him to play. I should have known better. If he "wins" in anything, he feels superior to me and disrespects my role as his parent. I hear that it makes him feel not safe if he feels like he's bett

Dear Martie, We went to a state school near the border of Canada, when we made beer runs to our neighbors to our north, not because we weren't legal in our state, but because they had the good beer over the bridge -- and passports weren't needed. I've been back once since and have had no interest in going back because I really didn't like the college, the education, or the career "services" I received from it. I have a few good friends and a lot of funny memories, but it in the end, it wasn't really a good fit for me. Or for you, since you dropped out after your junior year. You wanted to major in business and they didn't have that major. Guess what? They do now. "Business administration." How's that for a kick in the pants? They added a writing track to the English major the year after I left. Again, a kick in the pants. We were just ahead of our time. So, nope, no interest in returning. A depressing school in a depressing town. Cl

The Adirondack mountains, like mountains anywhere, are beautiful and inspiring, but also cruel and unforgiving. Just a few examples of recent rescues reported on this website  include: *A man attempting his final high peak became lost because the batteries on his GPS failed and he didn't have a compass and a map. Fortunately his cell phone still worked and rangers were able to reach him via the GPS signal from his phone. *A woman rolled an ankle and had to have rangers splint it, then assist her to Avalanche Lake, row her across the lake, and then transport her via UTV to the Adirondack Loj *A routine patrol found a distressed hiker at Marcy Dam who appeared to be severely dehydrated -- he was transported by UTV to South Meadow where he was met by an ambulance and taken to the local hospital for treatment *A couple who signed in at the St. Huberts's trail registry was reported overdue at 1:30 a.m., prompting a search -- they showed up at 6:30 a.m. -- in good condition, but

I still have a couple of posts to finish composing about our exploits in Lake Placid, but I've come to the conclusion that 48-hour days are still too short. In the meantime, I thought I would post a photo of our renovated flower garden. We completely overhauled it this spring in order to improve the curb appeal of our house. It took out my knees, but we've received many compliments, so maybe it was somewhat worth it. There is still more to do, but isn't there always? We had our first frost last night. It was very light, and the ornamental grass and zinnias didn't seem to mind. That ornamental grass comes from some hardy stock. It arrived mail order appearing dried out and lifeless. I stuck it in the ground anyway and figured it would either grow or not. I wanted ornamental grass in memory of Blackjack, whose favorite game in the world was to escape outside, where he would immediately stop to chew the grass. Forget happy hunting grounds for that cat; here's

I often think T deserved a different family. He clearly had the most difficulties of any child at the Big House at the time he was there. The nannies ignored him, clearly out of frustration with how to deal with him. They gave us pitying -- and somewhat judgmental, I felt -- looks of "Are you up for him?" For good reason. Today, and many days, I don't feel like I'm up for him. He needs a Mommy with an inexhaustable supply of patience. Or even one with a lot of patience. I used to think I was a patient person. He has taught me I am not. I read about other Moms with attachment-disordered children and how calm and patient they are through every meltdown, tantrum, and attachment-related misbehavior. I try. I really try. But I think I fail more often than I succeed. I pick him up at after school care -- which he's not even supposed to be going to any more because in August I requested to cut my hours at work so that he could cocoon more with me and sp

Thursday, August 2, 2012 Just below treeline on Algonquin, April 30, 1999.   For my 40th birthday, I climbed Algonquin, New York's second highest mountain and the only other one that tops out at more than 5,000 feet. Forty might have arrived, but I wasn't going to let it conquer me. I was prepared for my forties to be a strong decade of running PRs and mountain conquests. One week prior to that birthday I had set my official mile PR. A couple of weeks later, I set an official PR for the 5K. Yes, my forties were going to be great! Little did I know that my forty-year-old body had other thoughts. I spent most of that decade limping around with plantar fasciitis -- an inflammation of the large tendon that runs along the bottom of the foot -- four years in my left foot, and then, after four months of blessed relief, another four years in my right foot. When I was 49, I "cured" it by running a 200 meter race all out and tearing it, and in the process breaking

Wednesday, August 1, 2012 The first day of August is a scheduled day of rest to allow our legs, knees, and feet to recuperate between upward -- and then downward -- bound outings. Not that the kids need one, but the old people do. We think we'll take them on a train ride. Trains are fun after all. Who wouldn't want to enjoy a nice leisurely train ride from Lake Placid to Saranac Lake and back, stopping long enough in Saranac Lake to get ice cream at the local Stewart's? How can you see a train and not feel a tingle of excitement? Especially if  Thomas the Train   and Dinosaur Train are two of your favorite TV shows? Curses, foiled again. We call the other family condo to see if niece Bearies's little sister, Piggyback, age eight, wants to come with us. No, I am told, oldest nephew Long Legs, age 30-ish, is taking her hiking up Mount Marcy. MOUNT MARCY? With an eight-year-old? Hearing the news, I am horrified. Mount Marcy is the tallest mountain in New