Daria got up today and didn't want to go to school today because her arm hurt where Alex accidentally grabbed it yesterday while they were playing on the helicopter teeter tooter. Nice try, but no dice. It is fine, not even a bruise. The tiny one went to school and was forced to learn something another day. She is still so resistant to learning though. She makes me tired. When she forgets herself she is functioning at a second grade level in reading Russian and math. That little stinker. What a little slacker. The trick is to get her to buy into the work and she has been resistant to it.
Then there is the Wonder Boy. Wow he was in a difficult mood this morning. The report home from school was even worse. At least they didn't call me about it. I guess my telling them yesterday that they needed to "figure it out" gave them an insensitive to try and work it out. I know the kid isn't easy but all his specialists say that if people know how to work with difficult behaviors he is easily redirectable and works so hard to please. Just got to get him past screaming - maybe let him be safe? Works at home.
Anyway, after an okay afternoon and a difficult evening where he screamed in the back yard (what must the new young, want to start a family, neighbors think?!?!?) until he finally came into the house, sat down and ate dinner.
After awhile he came and sat on my lap. He then told me that the monsters were in his head today. He told me they came into his dreams last night and were still there when he woke. Gosh I wish he had told me that this morning. I told him, that if he had I would held him close today and taken him to work with me.
Then he was okay. I asked him if the monsters were still there in his mind and he said they had gone away. The rest of the night was normal nine-year-old boy night. That boy sure can dwadle when it comes to folding clothes.
After all this time I still miss the marks or "tells" that he gives out. Yet, family life still functions and everything is okay.
And maybe it is because of the procdure on Monday. We did a scope (a small camera that enters his nose and goes down the back of his throat) to check the back of his throat and vocal cords. I reminded him that is was no bigger than the spagetti he used to pull through the holes in his palate before graft surgery to freak people out. It certainly was smaller than the blueberries he developed a sort of game with - and that reassured him. It was nothing more than stuff he had already managed to conquer invading his nascal cavities. Gotta love a cleft child.
The caluses on his vocal cords due to excessive screaming make my mama heart cry. He came home with those. He has screamed so much and not gotten worse so I can only imagine what he did before. No wonder it is so easy for him to rage and cry at the top of his lungs when mad, angry or scared. He has had a lot of practice and has done a lot of damage. His cranio-facial clinic speech therapist has said that from the beginning and she is right. I saw it on the camera.
And there is so much reconstruction of his throat ectera needed just from his general cleft issues. My goodness. Alex did so well before, during and after. But maybe it triggered a hidden memory. And maybe it just made him feel unsafe. or maybe it was nothing. Who knows. I just wish I had known about the monsters this morning.
Then he became that normal little boy again with the hurt in his eyes while he tried to comply and please. I so hate those moments. I do not ask for them and I think they are something in response to the "before time" and I hate the look in his eyes.
I think it had nothing to do with the medical stuff, I think he is processing being in a loving family and it hurts. I have had foster kids that will never get that far in processing normal life given where they started. Kids left in harms way have so much grief and rage about it all - I weep for them. But of course I could not tonight in front of the kid. While he was up it was life as normal - no ripples from Mom.
So as my babies sleep tonight, I think about all they overcome everyday and I am in awe. They are amazing and they rock. We are such a family full of joy.
Daria goes into a growth hormone test next week. She has asked that Alex be there and he agreed. We will go have ice cream after. We definitely need to move closer to that medical center.
God bless, Mama Sarah
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Watch this armless drummer rip through 'Call Me Maybe'
WHAT’S TRENDING
24 Apr 2012 20:00:00 GMT
I am not a mom that is brave enough to give my son a drum set but I love this muscian's work. I went to lunch with a rather promenant adoption agency person recently and they told me my son should have never been put up for adoption. I wonder what that person would say about this young man? Who choses? I think God must give us these gifts of children as he wills. What a joy.
Alex wants to be a doctor when he is a little older. He is such a brave boy who underwent yet another medical process on Monday. Another surgery in June is needed. I wonder if I will be lucky enough to have him study at oxford. Gosh I hope so. I am already saving pennies for his dreams.
This guy can really drum. Enjoy.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
A Gift From My Son
Flowers from my mother's yard. Courtesy of Alex, my miracle from Russia. It was a day where the kids rode scootersover to my mothers' former house (she lives with us now). First thing Alex went out and picked all the dandelions
and other yellow flowers. He then raced into the house to find something to put them in. Daria was kind of in a daze while he raced around. Alex bounced out of the house, insisted that
I come in and admire and then away he went to play the day away while I toiled in the house.
That is my Alex – a sweetie in thorned garb. Every day he teaches me something new about being human. I think that our kids bring us back to reality. They bring us back to
the reality seen before we all buy the societal blah, blah, blah and become functional adults.
Just this week he showed me that again. On Tuesday he had a day that the school pretty much rated him as a total failure behavior-wise. When I stopped by to pick him up for a evaluation concerning emotional age (we are re-doing this one at the Children’s Hospital),
he was outside with the principal. He was escalated. It had been a bad day. And then we got in the car. We talked as my Mom drove.
Then he did the evaluation with the psychologists. It was hours long. I told them as I left the room about his day and the state I found him in. There were no problems during testing. He was
easily redirectable and a “joy” to work with.
That is the kid I generally now know.
My son a “joy” for someone else. Imagine. The doctors could not see what the school saw
earlier in the day. That is what I have heard a lot from both myself and other specialists when faced with school complaints.
And then I got it. Alex escalates when he is unsafe. He still harbors fear when separated from me and that increases dramatically when left in the care and/or supervision of men. Any man.
It does not matter to Alex – they are not safe. On Tuesday, his female teacher was out sick
and the three teaching assistants are male. And one has a really harsh tone when he yells at Alex from across the room. Go figure. It’s a wonder Alex didn’t start walking home.
Alex still lives in the reality that we as adults unconsciously or sometimes consciously reorder in our minds so as to continue to function. We adults blur the safety line to get through a job or uncomfortable situation. I find myself often feeling like I compromise my mental safety these days in advocating for Alex and even sometimes Daria. The people I have to talk to for them in the school systme make even me feel unsafe.
Alex cannot compromise his need to feel safe with the pressure to be socially acceptably compliant. And I think he has the right of it. He does fine, he just does not do the silly, and threatening stuff the rest of us have been taught to endure. I cannot ask him to do different. I did ask the doctors to help him learn coping skills when dealing with other people’s lacks.
They are going to work on it. Personally, I will not attempt to undo that part for him. Simply because he is right. He is still a child that sees the wrong of it all. I remember how I once
saw the world like that too. I would give my son more time to live as a fully actualized human being that still does not see the value in compromising pieces of one’s soul for societal
acceptance.
Instead I enjoy the son that brings me flowers. I treasure this miracle from Russia. He is a miracle. And I will try and remember that even when I call him to dinner or redirect him to a chore and he he tells me for the hundredth time to “just wait one more minute.” Whoever taught him that response at school has my serious ire. He is currently saying it for everything – even when he has to pee.
Gotta love the kid.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
A Saturday
We all got up a bit late. Me later than the kids. I was awake, listening to them on the monitors but not stirring much, just being lazy. They came down and we all cuddled in my bed for a few minutes before getting up to greet the day. Breakfast for all and then packing up for a day at my Mom's former house. Lots of fruit and salad was packed along with books, games and all the gear needed for a day in a sunny yard.
As I painted, the kids played. And played and played and played. A sunny day in the Pacific Northwest is not a day to be wasted. Daria is so cute, she had a long conversation with me today about the fact that she loves sun and does not like rain. As if I could waive a magic wand and make it all be sunny - every day. Maybe she has the right of it - I made magic in the lives of my kids and they are home now. And they are happy. So maybe Daria is right - I could move us to Arizona or Florida. Rain can be replaced with sun. I could but I wouldn't - for now at least. My chickadee is so smart about the world. We should all take lessons from her.
Alex had a meltdown late afternoon of course. So much fun and too much too deal with. There was such screaming by him and I am sure some of the neighbors were concerned. But he is still learning control and how to balance all the joy of life. He is like so many, he cannot believe that life is light and joy and instead seeks the dark emotional scenes. I did not give it to him.
I painted and painted and painted. My radio blasted songs of joy and sometimes I sang along. And Alex sat on the floor of that room and screamed and cried and generally bellyached. But he sat there, with legs crossed. The windows were open the smell of the spring flowers wafted in. He watched me stay calm. After awhile he started finding things on the floor to work on (it is still such a mess but I will deal with it after finishing painting). We started talking. At some point Alex fully self-regulated and was okay. I asked him if he could see how beautifully the painting was going. It looks so nice in this room now.
Alex couldn't believe I still wanted his opinion. He confirmed it was nice and was quiet in telling me. Alex is still learning that it is okay to exist. He is still learning that I love all of him. After he gave up all hope of being unknowingly treated like an 18-month-old baby being taught self-regulation through close contact with mom I let him go. Back outside or inside. I didn't care.
The rest of the day was a joy. Such is life. Alex is my miracle child. He is beginning to believe in a happy version of life. More important, he is beginning to live it.
Many of the therapists defining the lacks neglected and traumatized children often face fall short of discussing how we can give that back to them. Even worse - at almost a criminal extent are the social workers in the state system - my soul weeps for the children at their mercy.
Instead adoptive parents are given a negative balance sheet about their kids. It is like an adoptive professional reminded me recently of the lesson I taught her - we all just need to go to where the child is and then help them walk out of their darkness or whatever.
It is all fixable, we just need to go to where they are. That is not to say that if a child has severe drug induced handicaps or is genetically predisposed to mental illness a parent can make them normal. No parent approach can fix something beyond the choice of a child.
That being said, it is still a parent's opportunity find out. And to make the effort. Kids adopted older have a lot to overcome. With love they can.
My son's eyes are still filled with so much fear. He fears I will stop loving him. That he will not be enough. He fears that the life he wants will be taken away from him unexpectedly. Gosh I wish I could erase his knowledge of life from the "before time."
So I paint, watch them through the open window and Alex plays with his sister. Later they come into the house eat and disperse to playing games and reading. Daria whines that surely I must be done so that I can go home now. She whines and whines and whines.
I ignore her of course. I love this house I am repainting. This was my first house. It has such a good feeling about it and the yard is so large. I spent some really wonderful years in this house with my dogs and my Mom planning my adoption mom path. I am happy when I am here. So many wonderful memories and dreams still linger. I can smell the blooming Magnolia and Daphne even over the paint. Life is good.
So that is a Saturday. Tomorrow is more painting. My goal is to finish at least two gallons tomorrow.
As I painted, the kids played. And played and played and played. A sunny day in the Pacific Northwest is not a day to be wasted. Daria is so cute, she had a long conversation with me today about the fact that she loves sun and does not like rain. As if I could waive a magic wand and make it all be sunny - every day. Maybe she has the right of it - I made magic in the lives of my kids and they are home now. And they are happy. So maybe Daria is right - I could move us to Arizona or Florida. Rain can be replaced with sun. I could but I wouldn't - for now at least. My chickadee is so smart about the world. We should all take lessons from her.
Alex had a meltdown late afternoon of course. So much fun and too much too deal with. There was such screaming by him and I am sure some of the neighbors were concerned. But he is still learning control and how to balance all the joy of life. He is like so many, he cannot believe that life is light and joy and instead seeks the dark emotional scenes. I did not give it to him.
I painted and painted and painted. My radio blasted songs of joy and sometimes I sang along. And Alex sat on the floor of that room and screamed and cried and generally bellyached. But he sat there, with legs crossed. The windows were open the smell of the spring flowers wafted in. He watched me stay calm. After awhile he started finding things on the floor to work on (it is still such a mess but I will deal with it after finishing painting). We started talking. At some point Alex fully self-regulated and was okay. I asked him if he could see how beautifully the painting was going. It looks so nice in this room now.
Alex couldn't believe I still wanted his opinion. He confirmed it was nice and was quiet in telling me. Alex is still learning that it is okay to exist. He is still learning that I love all of him. After he gave up all hope of being unknowingly treated like an 18-month-old baby being taught self-regulation through close contact with mom I let him go. Back outside or inside. I didn't care.
The rest of the day was a joy. Such is life. Alex is my miracle child. He is beginning to believe in a happy version of life. More important, he is beginning to live it.
Many of the therapists defining the lacks neglected and traumatized children often face fall short of discussing how we can give that back to them. Even worse - at almost a criminal extent are the social workers in the state system - my soul weeps for the children at their mercy.
Instead adoptive parents are given a negative balance sheet about their kids. It is like an adoptive professional reminded me recently of the lesson I taught her - we all just need to go to where the child is and then help them walk out of their darkness or whatever.
It is all fixable, we just need to go to where they are. That is not to say that if a child has severe drug induced handicaps or is genetically predisposed to mental illness a parent can make them normal. No parent approach can fix something beyond the choice of a child.
That being said, it is still a parent's opportunity find out. And to make the effort. Kids adopted older have a lot to overcome. With love they can.
My son's eyes are still filled with so much fear. He fears I will stop loving him. That he will not be enough. He fears that the life he wants will be taken away from him unexpectedly. Gosh I wish I could erase his knowledge of life from the "before time."
So I paint, watch them through the open window and Alex plays with his sister. Later they come into the house eat and disperse to playing games and reading. Daria whines that surely I must be done so that I can go home now. She whines and whines and whines.
I ignore her of course. I love this house I am repainting. This was my first house. It has such a good feeling about it and the yard is so large. I spent some really wonderful years in this house with my dogs and my Mom planning my adoption mom path. I am happy when I am here. So many wonderful memories and dreams still linger. I can smell the blooming Magnolia and Daphne even over the paint. Life is good.
So that is a Saturday. Tomorrow is more painting. My goal is to finish at least two gallons tomorrow.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Watched a movie tonight that remined me about PTSD
I sometimes forget that the Dad I had after my Father died suffered from PTSD from doing too many tours in too many places as a Marine. I actaully never forget, it is just something that becomes a part of you. When you love someone that something is always in the background. Families do what they do - they do the best they can for each other.
I look at Alex today and I realize he tells me stories like my Dad did. Wait - he used to tell me stories like that. And now he doesn't.
Today he tells me kids things. Not more PTSD. What to think? Is it gone - probably not if someone hits the bruise left by a prior life event but otherwise a normal kid.
I had one of the surgeons recently tell me a preoccupation with snot is a normal nine-year-old boy thing - even if the boy was not cleft. Good to know because Alex is maxing that issue out with everyone he sees currently.
But he is still a kid that always is looking for Mom. We did a re-entry meeting today after his five day suspension from school and he was so worried. He kept peeking from the other room while we all talked. He got yoga at school today as a result of that meeting but he still looks so worried until he sees me again.
Then I was finally home and all was good. Kids got homework done and bedtime went well.
Alex is sleeping through the night and Daria is having nightmares which may be her first time admiting to them since coming home.
Gotta go - a kid needs cuddling. Thank the Lord for all his blessings.
I look at Alex today and I realize he tells me stories like my Dad did. Wait - he used to tell me stories like that. And now he doesn't.
Today he tells me kids things. Not more PTSD. What to think? Is it gone - probably not if someone hits the bruise left by a prior life event but otherwise a normal kid.
I had one of the surgeons recently tell me a preoccupation with snot is a normal nine-year-old boy thing - even if the boy was not cleft. Good to know because Alex is maxing that issue out with everyone he sees currently.
But he is still a kid that always is looking for Mom. We did a re-entry meeting today after his five day suspension from school and he was so worried. He kept peeking from the other room while we all talked. He got yoga at school today as a result of that meeting but he still looks so worried until he sees me again.
Then I was finally home and all was good. Kids got homework done and bedtime went well.
Alex is sleeping through the night and Daria is having nightmares which may be her first time admiting to them since coming home.
Gotta go - a kid needs cuddling. Thank the Lord for all his blessings.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Easter Sunday is coming !!!
I think I have been a bit distracted.
I just realized that according to the western church calendar Easter Sunday is this week! Talk about scrambling - yikes. Went over to the other house to get the ham. Ran to the store for the baskets stuff and I still needed more eggs - which were not on sale this week.
Easter is kind of special to us as a family. It is the first holiday Alex engaged with after coming home so he gets so happy when it is time.
Last year we were in Russia picking up Daria so not much was done. We literally picked her up from the orphanage Easter eve. We stopped by the roadside so that one of her nurses/nannies could give her toys and traditional Russian foods. She also gave Daria a saint medal and asked me to keep it safe for her until she was older. Of course I will.
Her orphanage gave her dolls - one which still says Russian phrases. The faciliator got Alex a Russian egg holder which was really sweet. (Yes, of course Alex flew back to Russia to help bring his sister home.) He insists that we keep in the curio cabinet with all the other special stuff so it is safe.
The kids are so excited. I am excited. I think the dress we got Daria before she came home might now fit. If not, we will pin it. It is so adorable.
I also need to confirm times for Easter services the following week, which is when the Eastern Orthodox church celebrates Easter. We are lucky enough to have a church here in town that has been rededicated to Eastern Orthodox Church and it follows their calendar and customs. I understand from thier website that they even have an iconostasis which I am excited to see. An iconostasis is a wall of icons (religious paintings) that separate parts of the sanctuary. They are similiar to rood screens found in medieval churches in England and France. To read more about them follow this link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iconostasis
I admit, I still love byzantine and medieval art. In the before time, I was working on that art history Phd - maybe some day I will finish. In the meantime Alex has already seen so many medieval churches and their icons he has become quite the discerning viewer. After all there are a lot in Russia and we always go to the Kremlin churches when we are in town.
Anyway, I have to get moving. I still cannot decide where to go on Sunday. I favor the Southern Baptist option but have started looking for another home church in the last year so maybe I will take them to something Catholic with all the bells and whistles. I grew up that way so it might be a nice bridge for the kids. And then we will go to the Russian Orthodox services the following Sunday.
Life is life. It will be what it is. God has blessed me with wonderful children.
I just realized that according to the western church calendar Easter Sunday is this week! Talk about scrambling - yikes. Went over to the other house to get the ham. Ran to the store for the baskets stuff and I still needed more eggs - which were not on sale this week.
Easter is kind of special to us as a family. It is the first holiday Alex engaged with after coming home so he gets so happy when it is time.
Last year we were in Russia picking up Daria so not much was done. We literally picked her up from the orphanage Easter eve. We stopped by the roadside so that one of her nurses/nannies could give her toys and traditional Russian foods. She also gave Daria a saint medal and asked me to keep it safe for her until she was older. Of course I will.
Her orphanage gave her dolls - one which still says Russian phrases. The faciliator got Alex a Russian egg holder which was really sweet. (Yes, of course Alex flew back to Russia to help bring his sister home.) He insists that we keep in the curio cabinet with all the other special stuff so it is safe.
The kids are so excited. I am excited. I think the dress we got Daria before she came home might now fit. If not, we will pin it. It is so adorable.
I also need to confirm times for Easter services the following week, which is when the Eastern Orthodox church celebrates Easter. We are lucky enough to have a church here in town that has been rededicated to Eastern Orthodox Church and it follows their calendar and customs. I understand from thier website that they even have an iconostasis which I am excited to see. An iconostasis is a wall of icons (religious paintings) that separate parts of the sanctuary. They are similiar to rood screens found in medieval churches in England and France. To read more about them follow this link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iconostasis
I admit, I still love byzantine and medieval art. In the before time, I was working on that art history Phd - maybe some day I will finish. In the meantime Alex has already seen so many medieval churches and their icons he has become quite the discerning viewer. After all there are a lot in Russia and we always go to the Kremlin churches when we are in town.
Anyway, I have to get moving. I still cannot decide where to go on Sunday. I favor the Southern Baptist option but have started looking for another home church in the last year so maybe I will take them to something Catholic with all the bells and whistles. I grew up that way so it might be a nice bridge for the kids. And then we will go to the Russian Orthodox services the following Sunday.
Life is life. It will be what it is. God has blessed me with wonderful children.
So I struggle ...
Last week an agency director told me that she and another agency head would rank me in the top five of adoptive parents in their professional experience.
Pretty heady information in a time I grieve for kids lost within my state system.
If you asked me on the street I would tell you I am an awesome mom and the best bet out there for any child. My kids would tell you the same. Family and friends would be quick too confirm. The doctors and various support people would also confirm.
My governor's office continues to fail me and the kids lost in thier system. Apparently the state's
entire file on me as an adoptive parent and the pre-adoptive placements has been lost. The representatives cannot return my calls. They are months late in issuing any letter explaining themselves.
The feds are lost too. They are freaked out at what happens at the state level but they feel
unable to stop actions at the state level that make them want to hurl.
So I struggle with what to do.
Some people say fight – get the kids I know out of the state quagmire I know that continues to harm them daily. The people that push me to fight give me the names of attorneys almost daily. I also get medical conformation daily that the mental conditions my former foster kids are being labeled is simply not possible. Most of those attorneys I contact say they will take the case but then give me a caution that people who advocate for the best for children are the most opposed.
I remember a little girl in our state foster system that was sent from her pre-adoptive family to her paternal grandmother in Mexico. There were a couple of articles about her in our local Pulizer prize winning newspaper and then nothing. Last fall that child, about four was found dead in Mexico. By family members. The social workers in my state failed to even asked when someone had last seen that child alive.
As a Mom I am horrified. I so worry about my foster kids. I know them. I first cannot sleep, and then when I do later wake up and stress about what to do.
Nothing I think. Those kids are left exposed to the whim of state social workers working through their unresolved issues. So I struggle. I work on grief. I work on the state making a final statement. I work on what to do next.
As with all of us, our time is limited. What to do, what to do?
My passport is still good. I hear there are still children needing a home in other countries. I am tired of mothering domestic kids put back into harm’s way. I am tired of not being able to sleep because I know they are not yet safe.
My son, and now my daughter have hardened my position about adoption. They have taught me that children in harm's way need to come home.
So I struggle. May God be with our journey.
Pretty heady information in a time I grieve for kids lost within my state system.
If you asked me on the street I would tell you I am an awesome mom and the best bet out there for any child. My kids would tell you the same. Family and friends would be quick too confirm. The doctors and various support people would also confirm.
My governor's office continues to fail me and the kids lost in thier system. Apparently the state's
entire file on me as an adoptive parent and the pre-adoptive placements has been lost. The representatives cannot return my calls. They are months late in issuing any letter explaining themselves.
The feds are lost too. They are freaked out at what happens at the state level but they feel
unable to stop actions at the state level that make them want to hurl.
So I struggle with what to do.
Some people say fight – get the kids I know out of the state quagmire I know that continues to harm them daily. The people that push me to fight give me the names of attorneys almost daily. I also get medical conformation daily that the mental conditions my former foster kids are being labeled is simply not possible. Most of those attorneys I contact say they will take the case but then give me a caution that people who advocate for the best for children are the most opposed.
I remember a little girl in our state foster system that was sent from her pre-adoptive family to her paternal grandmother in Mexico. There were a couple of articles about her in our local Pulizer prize winning newspaper and then nothing. Last fall that child, about four was found dead in Mexico. By family members. The social workers in my state failed to even asked when someone had last seen that child alive.
As a Mom I am horrified. I so worry about my foster kids. I know them. I first cannot sleep, and then when I do later wake up and stress about what to do.
Nothing I think. Those kids are left exposed to the whim of state social workers working through their unresolved issues. So I struggle. I work on grief. I work on the state making a final statement. I work on what to do next.
As with all of us, our time is limited. What to do, what to do?
My passport is still good. I hear there are still children needing a home in other countries. I am tired of mothering domestic kids put back into harm’s way. I am tired of not being able to sleep because I know they are not yet safe.
My son, and now my daughter have hardened my position about adoption. They have taught me that children in harm's way need to come home.
So I struggle. May God be with our journey.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
A little update on the domestic adoption front
I got letter a couple of weeks ago from someone in the child welfare system saying I had not applied to adopt in the state but they knew of no reason why I could not adopt. Unfortunately for them I kept a copy of the original application to adopt that I filed with them.
The “cc” list gets longer every time they send me a letter these days. That is not helping them tell the truth yet but I remain hopeful. I have been working with a representative from the governor’s advocacy office but I do not hold out much hope for her efforts. She is nice but had no clue where the actual file has kept and keeps getting stone-walled by her own people. Apparently the state workers made a lot of the paper in my file go missing including the home study. Good thing that I know of people outside the state who have a copy of the home study done for my state simply because I inquired about their kids in other states. Otherwise that home study would be a shredded document unrecoverable. Apparently y original petition to adopt was gone too.
About the same time, a family member of my last placement sent me a picture of the toddler who has cried so much her face was raw in several places. That is not the child I knew first as a baby and then later as a toddler. She had been a happy, easy to parent child. Apparently she is not today.
It is all so sad really. I sometimes do not know what to think. At some fundamental level I cannot believe that all the state workers I dealt with are such awful people. When I cannot sleep at night, I take out the stack of business cards I got from the various people during the two plus years I dealt with them and I marvel at the level of duplicity by so many different people.
I learned somewhere long ago that people tend to judge others from their own perspective. I certainly do. Since I tend to tell the truth and be straightforward about things I generally expect others are too. Especially in the serious business of adoption. Lives are at stake. I expected that when I was being honest and forthright with the state people they were doing the same with me. That was not true.
I look back on so many interactions and see them differently now. Some things I realize now make me kind of ill. In other instances my sense of what was wrong was on target and I feel better because I knew I was right about “x” “y” or “z.”
When I first visited my son Alex in his remote orphanage, on that second day in 2008, I was silently confronted by a line of boys against a wall desperately pleading with me with only their eyes. I will never forget those children. Those boys burned a hole in my heart that will
never heal – I still weep for them in my dreams. If I could stand it, I could still sit down
and draw their faces from memory. It is as if I saw them just yesterday, the image of their pain and despair is still so fresh in my mind.
The mark left on my soul by those boys is now accompanied by the pain I am experiencing for the children previously placed in my home but now lost in the system. My foster-to-adopt placements left my home in the most troubling of ways and I now worry for them.
I trusted that the people charged with their well-being would not cause further damage to these babies and toddlers I so carefully healed and nurtured. I was wrong to trust.
I find myself in the oddest sort of a grieving situation. I know the kids are not in the best of places and there is really nothing I can do t help them other than file the administrative
complaints. So far the people giving me help from attorneys are confirming that the violations of law and civil rights are very clear.
I think about the first foster-to-adopt toddler who was placed with me when he was 18-months old. He and his three-year-old brother were my beginning in the state system.
He came to me with his legs covered in staph infection (the case worker told me they were spider bites) because the kids had been left in a van for a few days and had been discovered in filth. I remember that kid being so needing of my love that he insisted on wrapping himself around my leg in the spring when I was transplanting my rose bushes from the side yard into the back planter. I had to simply dig holes with him clinging.
I remember him coming back from overnight visits with his mom, dehydrated, starving and bruised. I remember the case worker explaining it away. I remember their fear the day they left my home for good. I remember the oldest boy telling me that his mom would sell their clothing for a $1 a piece so could I please hold something back for them which I did.
Last year about this time, I called my state certifier and she was laughing because the boys were back in her office starving, dirty and without any clothing. She asked me if I could hear them in the background. I asked if I could be a resource for them. There was no response. I then
left subsequent messages with her and the case worker for the boys asking to please be able to be there for those boys. No response.
I find myself often unable to sleep now. The law is clear about the ultimate legal rights in my situation but it becomes exceedingly fuzzy in its protection of children in the system. I talk about the ones I know but I wonder about all the others. How much more damage is being done.
A lot I think.
So I wait for the governor’s office and the federal fact finders to do their thing. And I feel
like I have let my kids down. I have of course because I cannot figure out how to help them. I am lost in the ickiness of the state that destroys their childhood.
Someone talking to me once was disparaging about how Russia handles their children who need a home. I never thought much about that opinion because I knew my son lives because of all the people that cared for him in Russia before I was even a possible mama for him. Even the ministry department offered me all his baby pictures in the file so that he could have everything possible. I knew the Russians cared so much for the children abandoned that I adopted again simply because I knew the best was done in the circumstances.
Having spent some time in both systems now, I would say the children in Russia are treated better than kids in the state foster care system.
The “cc” list gets longer every time they send me a letter these days. That is not helping them tell the truth yet but I remain hopeful. I have been working with a representative from the governor’s advocacy office but I do not hold out much hope for her efforts. She is nice but had no clue where the actual file has kept and keeps getting stone-walled by her own people. Apparently the state workers made a lot of the paper in my file go missing including the home study. Good thing that I know of people outside the state who have a copy of the home study done for my state simply because I inquired about their kids in other states. Otherwise that home study would be a shredded document unrecoverable. Apparently y original petition to adopt was gone too.
About the same time, a family member of my last placement sent me a picture of the toddler who has cried so much her face was raw in several places. That is not the child I knew first as a baby and then later as a toddler. She had been a happy, easy to parent child. Apparently she is not today.
It is all so sad really. I sometimes do not know what to think. At some fundamental level I cannot believe that all the state workers I dealt with are such awful people. When I cannot sleep at night, I take out the stack of business cards I got from the various people during the two plus years I dealt with them and I marvel at the level of duplicity by so many different people.
I learned somewhere long ago that people tend to judge others from their own perspective. I certainly do. Since I tend to tell the truth and be straightforward about things I generally expect others are too. Especially in the serious business of adoption. Lives are at stake. I expected that when I was being honest and forthright with the state people they were doing the same with me. That was not true.
I look back on so many interactions and see them differently now. Some things I realize now make me kind of ill. In other instances my sense of what was wrong was on target and I feel better because I knew I was right about “x” “y” or “z.”
When I first visited my son Alex in his remote orphanage, on that second day in 2008, I was silently confronted by a line of boys against a wall desperately pleading with me with only their eyes. I will never forget those children. Those boys burned a hole in my heart that will
never heal – I still weep for them in my dreams. If I could stand it, I could still sit down
and draw their faces from memory. It is as if I saw them just yesterday, the image of their pain and despair is still so fresh in my mind.
The mark left on my soul by those boys is now accompanied by the pain I am experiencing for the children previously placed in my home but now lost in the system. My foster-to-adopt placements left my home in the most troubling of ways and I now worry for them.
I trusted that the people charged with their well-being would not cause further damage to these babies and toddlers I so carefully healed and nurtured. I was wrong to trust.
I find myself in the oddest sort of a grieving situation. I know the kids are not in the best of places and there is really nothing I can do t help them other than file the administrative
complaints. So far the people giving me help from attorneys are confirming that the violations of law and civil rights are very clear.
I think about the first foster-to-adopt toddler who was placed with me when he was 18-months old. He and his three-year-old brother were my beginning in the state system.
He came to me with his legs covered in staph infection (the case worker told me they were spider bites) because the kids had been left in a van for a few days and had been discovered in filth. I remember that kid being so needing of my love that he insisted on wrapping himself around my leg in the spring when I was transplanting my rose bushes from the side yard into the back planter. I had to simply dig holes with him clinging.
I remember him coming back from overnight visits with his mom, dehydrated, starving and bruised. I remember the case worker explaining it away. I remember their fear the day they left my home for good. I remember the oldest boy telling me that his mom would sell their clothing for a $1 a piece so could I please hold something back for them which I did.
Last year about this time, I called my state certifier and she was laughing because the boys were back in her office starving, dirty and without any clothing. She asked me if I could hear them in the background. I asked if I could be a resource for them. There was no response. I then
left subsequent messages with her and the case worker for the boys asking to please be able to be there for those boys. No response.
I find myself often unable to sleep now. The law is clear about the ultimate legal rights in my situation but it becomes exceedingly fuzzy in its protection of children in the system. I talk about the ones I know but I wonder about all the others. How much more damage is being done.
A lot I think.
So I wait for the governor’s office and the federal fact finders to do their thing. And I feel
like I have let my kids down. I have of course because I cannot figure out how to help them. I am lost in the ickiness of the state that destroys their childhood.
Someone talking to me once was disparaging about how Russia handles their children who need a home. I never thought much about that opinion because I knew my son lives because of all the people that cared for him in Russia before I was even a possible mama for him. Even the ministry department offered me all his baby pictures in the file so that he could have everything possible. I knew the Russians cared so much for the children abandoned that I adopted again simply because I knew the best was done in the circumstances.
Having spent some time in both systems now, I would say the children in Russia are treated better than kids in the state foster care system.
Monday, March 19, 2012
A boy and his dog
Life is a balance.
Finally, finally, finally – Alex was ready for a dog and we saw the perfect dog. We named him Boomer of course because, as Alex noted, he goes “boom boom” through the house. This puppy is five months old and has some of the biggest paws I have ever seen. Dude is going to be one huge dog. :)
Alex is over the moon – he got a dog who can play fetch. He could not be happier. There is nothing more moving than a boy and his dog. They keep trying to sneak into bedtime together. As is necessary with most Labs, Boomer has to be put away at night for his own good. The other day he chewed through an extension cord and yelped when he got a shock. That has not stopped him from finding a loose molding, tearing it loose and chewing beyond all recognition. I wonder if there is insurance to cover the puppyhood of a lab/border collie mix. Probably not. I fear for the piano. I fear for all my books. I fear for the front door. No way is that dog getting in my newly bought car - I have heard stories about entire interiors being eaten by such puppies.
I have told the kids to put their toys on higher ground or Boomer will eat them. Daria refused to listen and has lost two fairy barbies to this cutie.
Alex is much wiser and guards his intendo plug with an almost religious zeal. He also made sure all his stuff is out of puppy teeth range. Alex loves this dog and never complains about clean-up, feeding or walking. The unconditional love between these two brings tears to my eyes. This is what I wanted for my son when I brought him home – to know love, joy and a sense of belonging. We are there and it is a good thing.
I have told the kids to put their toys on higher ground or Boomer will eat them. Daria refused to listen and has lost two fairy barbies to this cutie.
Alex is much wiser and guards his intendo plug with an almost religious zeal. He also made sure all his stuff is out of puppy teeth range. Alex loves this dog and never complains about clean-up, feeding or walking. The unconditional love between these two brings tears to my eyes. This is what I wanted for my son when I brought him home – to know love, joy and a sense of belonging. We are there and it is a good thing.
I was posting on the blog of a single adoptive mom I find so inspiring and I realized I keep forgetting to talk about all we have learned as a family. In her blog she was talking about, among other things, having a child that still rages. Those are not her exact words but it is close enough. We are a happy family but Alex still goes there. As I typed and worked through the issue while posting on her blog, I wondered if that is where the pathways of the brains always lead the kids back to when they are under duress to what I call the "before time."
I wondered if all that behavior simply a testing when they are scared. Those were not the words I used as I typed my thoughts out to the world but that is what whispers in the back of my mind. Alex and I spent most of Sunday at the emergency room in the children’s hospital because of still unresolved pain issues in his mouth due to cleft anomalies – I think. The doctors have a variety of other possible positions. I am lucky though – the specialists are watching and we will see.
Just recently Alex told me that he did “all those things” because he was so scared. His unsolicited words not mine. Maybe that is why he still does that really difficult stuff sometimes still. Maybe I just don’t see all the things that scare him – I only pay attention to drama that affects me. I feel the buttons being punched and the quality of life ebbing away – I forget what he has told me in the quiet moments – he does that stuff when he is really, really, really scared.
It takes a special courage to love and parent a traumatized child.
I remain convinced it is worth it. As I have said, my son has hardened my position about adoption. I cannot image him left alone in the before time.
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