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