We recently did a 7 hour road trip with ALL 4 of our kids...we have 4 kids ages 6, 3, 2 and 3 months...WE ARE INSANE. We realized our insanity the moment we pulled out of the driveway with our entire house packed into our mini van, kids fighting about someone touching them, or someone took my toy, she's kicking my seat, baby screaming, everyone sweating, no way to stop the noise coming from rows two and three without losing your voice, realizing you forgot your ear plugs, etc, ect, ect...and thus was beginning to a VERY LONG road trip adventure for a 2 day family reunion hundreds of miles away. We discovered a few things about our children and ourselves on this road trip:
1) We don't like road trips.
2) After 1 hour in the car, kids start complaining it's taking too long, and state this fact every 5 mins for the remaining 6 hours
3) After 1.5 hours of being serenaded by a screaming infant, I can barely remember my own name.
4) Trying to stop your kids from arguing in the car is impossible while you are strapped in with a seat belt...no one is afraid of a caged bear.
5) Kids never have to go pee when you ask them, only when there is no rest stop for miles
6) When your 3 year old refuses to sleep in the car, no one sleeps in the car
7) The Backyardigans soundtrack breaks your brain when it is played on loop hour after hour
8) Farting in the car is never a good idea, no matter how discrete you are
9) There isn't much to talk about for 7 hours straight, even if you are soul mates
10) WE DON'T LIKE ROAD TRIPS
My favorite moment from our trip was Jack's worst moment from our trip...on our way home we stopped to eat lunch. All the kids were complaining and whining and desperately needing to get out and stretch their legs, so we stopped at a local "in the middle of nowhere" restaurant. The baby was needing to eat, so I stayed in the van while Jack took the older 3 kids into the restaurant. Two minutes after they left the van, they all came walking back to the van. Sedric was crying. Jack looked upset. Girls were rolling their eyes. I rolled down the window to ask what he was doing...but one look at him and my question was answered...he had vomit all over his shirt and a vomit smeared two year old crying next to him...screaming, "mommy, I pooked (puked) on daddy! My tummy hurts!" It was priceless watching Jack trying to get his shirt off while dry heaving in a crowded parking lot with people staring...he managed to do it without getting any vomit in his hair...I was a proud wife that day. After I was done feeding the baby and the "pooked" on clothes were thrown in the back of the van to be baked by the hot summer sun, we went in and ate. The kids were loud and quick to point out the spot outside the front door and inside the front door where Sedric deposited his breakfast, they did it with such pride, wanting everyone to see it...Jack and I walked by it shushing our kids pretending they were crazy. After lunch, spirits were high, tummies were full, parents refreshed...it all seemed but a bad dream this 7 hour road trip, but then, reality did it's thing...as we walked back to our van a wave of revelation hit us in the face as we opened the van doors and the smell from the baked "pooked" clothes greeted us. I will never forget the smell of our van that day...NEVER.
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Blackeyed Beauty
I was having one of those "fun" days with my kids...letting them run buck-wild all day, watch cartoons all day, eat too much junk all day, have bad manners all day...I was too tired to captain the ship that day...now that I think about it, my 2 year old was naked all day...it was one of those days. Normally, I would write off that kind of day, file it away under HOT MESS, and move on...this day was slightly harder to file away...
My 3 year old loves to put on makeup, layer upon layer until the face is no longer recognizable as being human. Today, I was her victim. She spent an hour brushing my hair, ripping my hair out with every stroke and repeatedly saying, "this is gonna hurt." She was right. Once she achieved the perfect comb-over that started from my left ear and stretched unnaturally to my right ear, she then turned her thorough eye to doing my makeup. She fancied the purple eye shadow today. I never looked in the mirror...not once. While she was beautifying my tortured hair with butterfly clips and making my skin burn from all the makeup application and then rough, swift removal after each stroke of the lip gloss wand and cheap worn out eye shadow sponge, I received a text from a lady responding to my Craigslist ad...I am selling a couch. She wanted to come see it today, I told her to come on over. She said she would be there in 15 mins...I got up, I thanked my 3 yr old for the quality time, then I went downstairs...
I walked past my 6 yr old, she smiled at me, I smiled back.
I walked past my 2 yr old, he asked me for a snack, I said no, he threw a fit, I didn't care, I was selling a couch.
I walked past MY HUSBAND...HE SAID NOTHING.
The doorbell rings.
I answer it.
The lady looks at me with a peculiar look on her face.
I smile and chat her up, as is my custom when I sell things.
I show her the couch.
She says its nice, but keeps looking at me with a furrowed brow.
I wonder what her problem is...
She says she needs to think about the couch.
She looks at me one more time before leaving...it was awkward.
I walk back in the house, have a 5 MIN CONVERSATION WITH MY HUSBAND about something I can't remember.
I realize I need to go to the bathroom.
I walk into the bathroom and sit down.
I look up into the mirror.
I scream!
What stared back at me was reminiscent of a movie I had recently watched...
I looked like the gum smacking blueberry girl from Willy Wonka...the heavy purple eye shadow ALL. OVER. MY FACE.!! I was completely purple.
SPEECHLESS.
How did this happen?!
Embarrassed is too friendly a word for what I feel.
Begin blame shifting IMMEDIATELY!
I storm out of the bathroom with thunder and lightening in my steps and yell at my husband, "JACK! How did you not notice?!!!"
He sat on the couch, mouth agape, dumbfounded as he stares at me...revelation slowly dawning in his eyes...he then says, "UMMM, I don't...WAIT, how did YOU not notice?!"
TOUCHE...but I don't tell him that, instead...
My eyes narrow, I purse my lips into a duck face getting ready to have a conniption.
The children sense the tension.
They stop what they are doing.
They stare.
Even the dog stares.
I take an exaggerated, deep, calming, breath, secretly knowing it won't work on this level of outrage, but I PRETEND it works because the kids are watching...
A forced smile appears on my face...
I change the subject with, "Who wants pizza for dinner?"
The children cheer.
I give my husband one more dirty look, just in case he thought I was done being mad at him.
As you my have already guessed, I did not sell the couch.
I did not speak to my husband for an hour.
I did set a good example for my kids...SORTA.
I did not cry about it, even though I wanted to.
I did laugh about it though...but only after my prescription M&M's kicked in.
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My 3 year old loves to put on makeup, layer upon layer until the face is no longer recognizable as being human. Today, I was her victim. She spent an hour brushing my hair, ripping my hair out with every stroke and repeatedly saying, "this is gonna hurt." She was right. Once she achieved the perfect comb-over that started from my left ear and stretched unnaturally to my right ear, she then turned her thorough eye to doing my makeup. She fancied the purple eye shadow today. I never looked in the mirror...not once. While she was beautifying my tortured hair with butterfly clips and making my skin burn from all the makeup application and then rough, swift removal after each stroke of the lip gloss wand and cheap worn out eye shadow sponge, I received a text from a lady responding to my Craigslist ad...I am selling a couch. She wanted to come see it today, I told her to come on over. She said she would be there in 15 mins...I got up, I thanked my 3 yr old for the quality time, then I went downstairs...
I walked past my 6 yr old, she smiled at me, I smiled back.
I walked past my 2 yr old, he asked me for a snack, I said no, he threw a fit, I didn't care, I was selling a couch.
I walked past MY HUSBAND...HE SAID NOTHING.
The doorbell rings.
I answer it.
The lady looks at me with a peculiar look on her face.
I smile and chat her up, as is my custom when I sell things.
I show her the couch.
She says its nice, but keeps looking at me with a furrowed brow.
I wonder what her problem is...
She says she needs to think about the couch.
She looks at me one more time before leaving...it was awkward.
I walk back in the house, have a 5 MIN CONVERSATION WITH MY HUSBAND about something I can't remember.
I realize I need to go to the bathroom.
I walk into the bathroom and sit down.
I look up into the mirror.
I scream!
What stared back at me was reminiscent of a movie I had recently watched...
I looked like the gum smacking blueberry girl from Willy Wonka...the heavy purple eye shadow ALL. OVER. MY FACE.!! I was completely purple.
SPEECHLESS.
How did this happen?!
Embarrassed is too friendly a word for what I feel.
Begin blame shifting IMMEDIATELY!
I storm out of the bathroom with thunder and lightening in my steps and yell at my husband, "JACK! How did you not notice?!!!"
He sat on the couch, mouth agape, dumbfounded as he stares at me...revelation slowly dawning in his eyes...he then says, "UMMM, I don't...WAIT, how did YOU not notice?!"
TOUCHE...but I don't tell him that, instead...
My eyes narrow, I purse my lips into a duck face getting ready to have a conniption.
The children sense the tension.
They stop what they are doing.
They stare.
Even the dog stares.
I take an exaggerated, deep, calming, breath, secretly knowing it won't work on this level of outrage, but I PRETEND it works because the kids are watching...
A forced smile appears on my face...
I change the subject with, "Who wants pizza for dinner?"
The children cheer.
I give my husband one more dirty look, just in case he thought I was done being mad at him.
As you my have already guessed, I did not sell the couch.
I did not speak to my husband for an hour.
I did set a good example for my kids...SORTA.
I did not cry about it, even though I wanted to.
I did laugh about it though...but only after my prescription M&M's kicked in.
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Fast Food Quality Control
Check the pantry, realize there is nothing amusing to eat.
Convince the kids they want McDonald's by casually mentioning the word McDonald's in a sentence.
Convincing Complete.
Operation Drive-Thur commences.
Pull up to your favorite family friendly McDonalds...conveniently located next door to the gentlemen's club separated only by a dying, thinning hedge bush.
Pretend you live in the burbs and neon buildings don't exist.
Place your order while your kids scream at you to get milk shakes and the meal with a toy!
Pretend you don't hear them asking you to spend more money and tell them they are out of toys and milk shakes.
Sighs of deep sadness emerge from rows two and three.
Oldest child asks what is that beautiful building out the window with the flashing lights and the girl dancing on the sign...
UMMMMMMMMMM......WELLLLLLL.....ITSSSS......oh look our food is ready!
Oldest child cheers and forgets the dancing girl and the flashing lights.
Realize that the day is rapidly approaching when you will have to choose a different, less convenient McDonalds with sub par fries in order to preserve the innocence of your children.
Receive bag of greasy food from the drive thru attendant, wait to inspect the order until she backs away and talks on the headset to another customer.
Open the steaming hot bag. Inhale.
Prepare to quality check fry #1. Make sure it is the best specimen in the bag.
Consume fry. Pretend its super hot so your kids won't ask for one too.
3 sets of eyes begin to narrow as they watch their fries being depleted.
Civil unrest is born in the back seat.
Whispers and looks of mistrust are being passed between toddlers.
I lick my fingers and put the van in drive...
Kids begin demanding a fry for the 5 min drive home.
Tell them they are too hot.
Ask your kids to help look out their windows for oncoming cars...steal 3 fries, consume silently.
Kids hear the bag crunch.
3 sets of eyes narrow.
Stop chewing, JUST SWALLOW.
Mutiny on the Odyssey is full under way.
Listen to your name become a bad word among your children as they realize your fry thieving ways.
Yell at your kids to keep the noise down so you don't crash the van.
Kids demand fries. NOW.
Try to explain to the impatient kids that they may die if you throw them fries while driving because its dangerous and against the law.
Kids demand fries. NOW.
Collective bargaining begins most inconveniently.
Decide death by automobile is more severe than fry withdrawl.
Peel out of the parking lot.
Cut off a low rider with spinner wheels...CRAP.
Yell at your kids.
Refuse to look out your window as low rider with spinner wheels gets in the lane next to you...CRAP.
Stop at the light.
Pray that low rider with spinner wheels won't follow you home and cap your a**.
Wipe the bead of sweat from your brow.
Reach into food bag with a shaky hand. Grab a handful of fries and throw them into the back seats hoping they land where little arms can reach them.
One kid drops their fry just as the light turns green and there is nothing you can do about it...
A "I didn't get any" fit begins.
A slight twinge of fast food regret begins in your mind...more trouble than it's worth?
Eat another fry to comfort yourself.
Three long minutes later, pull into the driveway.
Begin to disembark yourself and kids from the van that smells like grease.
Try not to drop your youngest child who is shoeless and pantless as you try to find the key in your purse while holding the food bag in your mouth.
Walk up to the door sweating and fatigued.
Open the door.
Dogs attack you the moment they smell hamburgers.
Yell at the dogs.
Push the kids through the door with your knee.
One kid falls as usual. Try not to pull your groin as you lift fallen kid with your foot.
Finally, everyone is in the house, at the table (one kid standing on the table), and ready to eat
Pass out the food.
Realize you didn't quality check the hamburgers.
Unwrap one at a time, take a very large bite. Savor. Pass to first kid. Repeat on hamburgers two and three, savor...
kids give you a look of disbelief.
But after the 10 minutes you just had trying to get them the hamburgers and fries near the strip club, in the hood, on a 4 lane road, almost getting killed by a low rider with spinner wheels...GIVE THEM THE STINK EYE AND EAT ANOTHER FRY.
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Convince the kids they want McDonald's by casually mentioning the word McDonald's in a sentence.
Convincing Complete.
Operation Drive-Thur commences.
Pull up to your favorite family friendly McDonalds...conveniently located next door to the gentlemen's club separated only by a dying, thinning hedge bush.
Pretend you live in the burbs and neon buildings don't exist.
Place your order while your kids scream at you to get milk shakes and the meal with a toy!
Pretend you don't hear them asking you to spend more money and tell them they are out of toys and milk shakes.
Sighs of deep sadness emerge from rows two and three.
Oldest child asks what is that beautiful building out the window with the flashing lights and the girl dancing on the sign...
UMMMMMMMMMM......WELLLLLLL.....ITSSSS......oh look our food is ready!
Oldest child cheers and forgets the dancing girl and the flashing lights.
Realize that the day is rapidly approaching when you will have to choose a different, less convenient McDonalds with sub par fries in order to preserve the innocence of your children.
Receive bag of greasy food from the drive thru attendant, wait to inspect the order until she backs away and talks on the headset to another customer.
Open the steaming hot bag. Inhale.
Prepare to quality check fry #1. Make sure it is the best specimen in the bag.
Consume fry. Pretend its super hot so your kids won't ask for one too.
3 sets of eyes begin to narrow as they watch their fries being depleted.
Civil unrest is born in the back seat.
Whispers and looks of mistrust are being passed between toddlers.
I lick my fingers and put the van in drive...
Kids begin demanding a fry for the 5 min drive home.
Tell them they are too hot.
Ask your kids to help look out their windows for oncoming cars...steal 3 fries, consume silently.
Kids hear the bag crunch.
3 sets of eyes narrow.
Stop chewing, JUST SWALLOW.
Mutiny on the Odyssey is full under way.
Listen to your name become a bad word among your children as they realize your fry thieving ways.
Yell at your kids to keep the noise down so you don't crash the van.
Kids demand fries. NOW.
Try to explain to the impatient kids that they may die if you throw them fries while driving because its dangerous and against the law.
Kids demand fries. NOW.
Collective bargaining begins most inconveniently.
Decide death by automobile is more severe than fry withdrawl.
Peel out of the parking lot.
Cut off a low rider with spinner wheels...CRAP.
Yell at your kids.
Refuse to look out your window as low rider with spinner wheels gets in the lane next to you...CRAP.
Stop at the light.
Pray that low rider with spinner wheels won't follow you home and cap your a**.
Wipe the bead of sweat from your brow.
Reach into food bag with a shaky hand. Grab a handful of fries and throw them into the back seats hoping they land where little arms can reach them.
One kid drops their fry just as the light turns green and there is nothing you can do about it...
A "I didn't get any" fit begins.
A slight twinge of fast food regret begins in your mind...more trouble than it's worth?
Eat another fry to comfort yourself.
Three long minutes later, pull into the driveway.
Begin to disembark yourself and kids from the van that smells like grease.
Try not to drop your youngest child who is shoeless and pantless as you try to find the key in your purse while holding the food bag in your mouth.
Walk up to the door sweating and fatigued.
Open the door.
Dogs attack you the moment they smell hamburgers.
Yell at the dogs.
Push the kids through the door with your knee.
One kid falls as usual. Try not to pull your groin as you lift fallen kid with your foot.
Finally, everyone is in the house, at the table (one kid standing on the table), and ready to eat
Pass out the food.
Realize you didn't quality check the hamburgers.
Unwrap one at a time, take a very large bite. Savor. Pass to first kid. Repeat on hamburgers two and three, savor...
kids give you a look of disbelief.
But after the 10 minutes you just had trying to get them the hamburgers and fries near the strip club, in the hood, on a 4 lane road, almost getting killed by a low rider with spinner wheels...GIVE THEM THE STINK EYE AND EAT ANOTHER FRY.
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The Forgotten Diaper
All I could see was crack and sac staring brazenly at me from behind my pillow...there is only one person in our family who would dare to get bare on my pillow, one person with a "pre-garden" mentality about nudity...SEDRIC...aka, BUBBA. There is nothing like getting your child out of the bath, having their fresh and clean pajamas folded neatly and resting on the counter waiting to be adorned on your child's freshly cleaned body. I love being prepared. I hate when I realize I am not prepared. Somehow, I forgot the crucial piece of kid necessity...a diaper. This wouldn't have been a problem if this scenario was about one of my girls when they were little...I could fetch them out of the tub, throw a towel around them and tell them to NOT MOVE while I grab a diaper in the hall closet, AND THEY WOULD OBEY. Unfortunately, this is not a scenario about one of my "good with instruction" girls, it's about my "I heart nudity" son. I knew I was in trouble as I tried to contain his squirming body with one hand as my free hand frantically swept along the counter top in search of the forgotten diaper...it wasn't there...CRAP. Sedric noticed the lack of diaper too...CRAP. The diapers were in the hall closet. My diaper fetchers were no where to be seen...CRAP. I took a deep breath and accepted my mission: get the diaper before Sedric could escape and pee all over the house. I counted to 3. Sedric put his game face on. I didn't play fair. I threw the towel over his head to slow him down then I darted down the hall like lightening. I felt hope as I approached the closet door only to have a sinking feeling as I realized my hands were too lotion-y to open the door! Squealing erupted from the bathroom as Sedric freed himself from the towel and darted, naked and proud, into the hallway as I struggled to wrap my shirt around my hand like a glove to use as grip on the door nob. I grabbed for the diaper in the plastic bag, struggling to find the blasted opening...I ripped a new opening spraying diapers across the hallway, but, a diaper was free at last! Now where did he go? I checked his usual hiding places...he wasn't under his sisters bed, or hiding under his covers, or in his closet...my heart beat a little faster as I realized there is only one other room upstairs he could be in...MY ROOM!! I envisioned him running naked through my room peeing on all my stuff...that's when I found him...just crack and sac staring at me from behind my throw pillows. Pearly white cheeks glowing in the twilight of the setting sun giving away his exact location. If I hadn't been so worried about him peeing on my side of the bed, I would have run downstairs and grabbed the camera. I picked him up victoriously and hauled him away to the bathroom to be properly diapered. I laid him down, only to have him wriggle, jiggle, free and jump to his feet. He looked me in the eye, gave me a half smirk and peed on the floor...CRAP. Well played Sedric, well played.
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FORGET how HARD it is, REMEMBER how GOOD it is
Right after having Sedric (who was a BIG surprise in our family planning schedule), I was a wreck. An exhausted wreck. My will power to be a good parent was on trial as I was trying to take care of a newborn baby for the first time and help our second daughter Rafe (who we just brought home from Ethiopia 5 months prior) to attach and bond. Things had never seemed so insurmountable to me as they were at that moment. I cried alot. I had overwhelming guilt about Rafe not getting the mommy time she desperately needed and I couldn't see past the daily exhaustion of all that my life was requiring of me. I felt like I was getting the "ripped off" version with the early years of both my new babies...I desperately wanted to hold Rafe all day and take her everywhere on my hip and introduce her to the world from the safety of my arms, but I couldn't. I wanted to hold Sedric all day and fuss over him every time he made a sound and enjoy all the firsts with a newborn, but I couldn't. I wanted the parenting model that all my friends had: ONE BABY AT A TIME, but that's not what I was given. I was really struggling to embrace my circumstances. To embrace my limitations.
One night, I was up feeding Sedric, delirious from exhaustion, in need of a shower, humming circus music under my breath (a true testament of my lunacy during those dark months). I was at the end of my rope...I started crying, completely overwhelmed with my own inadequacy. I was too tired to pray a "real" prayer, so all I said was, "HELP" under my breath as I stared into the face of my sleeping milk drunk child. That's when I heard it...a still small voice. It said, "FORGET how HARD it is, REMEMBER how GOOD it is." REVELATION.
I still look at my life everyday with that simple advice in mind, "FORGET how HARD it is, REMEMBER how GOOD it is" The hard times aren't so overwhelming when your perspective is in the right place. Perspective is everything when parenting children. Its so easy to lose it, to misplace it, walk away from it...but when we hold on to it, refuse to let go of it, and daily walk toward it, we see what God sees about our children, about ourselves, about others. All the messes, the sibling disputes and turf wars, the questionable behavior in public places, the fits, the screaming, the sleepless nights, the coloring on the walls, the endless questions, the fighting over the pink bowl, having boogers in your hair, the pooping in the tub, the harassing the dogs, the spills...oh the spills! Its all worth it and manageable when looked at from a broader perspective, not just seeing the moments pain, but the lifetime of worth your daily interactions are instilling into your child's life. When I get to the end of my "parenting young kids" season, I don't want to look back and see a mom who was always frustrated and needing a break, but rather a mom who is passed out and drooling on her pillow by 9pm every night because she put her all into every day with her kids.
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One night, I was up feeding Sedric, delirious from exhaustion, in need of a shower, humming circus music under my breath (a true testament of my lunacy during those dark months). I was at the end of my rope...I started crying, completely overwhelmed with my own inadequacy. I was too tired to pray a "real" prayer, so all I said was, "HELP" under my breath as I stared into the face of my sleeping milk drunk child. That's when I heard it...a still small voice. It said, "FORGET how HARD it is, REMEMBER how GOOD it is." REVELATION.
I still look at my life everyday with that simple advice in mind, "FORGET how HARD it is, REMEMBER how GOOD it is" The hard times aren't so overwhelming when your perspective is in the right place. Perspective is everything when parenting children. Its so easy to lose it, to misplace it, walk away from it...but when we hold on to it, refuse to let go of it, and daily walk toward it, we see what God sees about our children, about ourselves, about others. All the messes, the sibling disputes and turf wars, the questionable behavior in public places, the fits, the screaming, the sleepless nights, the coloring on the walls, the endless questions, the fighting over the pink bowl, having boogers in your hair, the pooping in the tub, the harassing the dogs, the spills...oh the spills! Its all worth it and manageable when looked at from a broader perspective, not just seeing the moments pain, but the lifetime of worth your daily interactions are instilling into your child's life. When I get to the end of my "parenting young kids" season, I don't want to look back and see a mom who was always frustrated and needing a break, but rather a mom who is passed out and drooling on her pillow by 9pm every night because she put her all into every day with her kids.
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No Sedric, you are not adopted
I had the pleasure of witnessing a humorous interaction between my two Ethiopian born daughters and our African American neighbors the other day. My husband and I purposely chose to live in the most ethnically diverse district in Portland, OR so our girls wouldn't feel out of place in more Caucasian communities...like the burbs. The only issue we did not consider when making our exodus from the burbs was our biological son...our very white, German/Irish son. In our neighborhood, Sedric is the only white boy for miles. Sedric is vampiric white. From certain angles, he seems translucent. His hair is so white, it almost glows in the dark. Sedric does not know he is white...and he does not know that he IS NOT ADOPTED, OR ETHIOPIAN like his big sisters.
A few weeks ago, while unloading groceries out of our van, the neighbor kids stopped by for the first time since we had moved into the neighborhood. They looked at me, then looked and Peniel, then Rafe, then Sedric. I could tell they were trying to put the pieces of our mosaic family together in their heads. Finally, the oldest boy blurts out, "Are these your kids?" I smiled and said yes. Feeling more bold, he asks again (pointing at Peniel and Rafe), "Even these two?" I smiled again and said yes. Before I could give them a few facts about our family, Peniel, my 5 yr old veteran talker, makes her presence known in the conversation. She said, "I'm Peniel, I'm Ethiopian and I'm adopted because I'm really special, and my mom really wanted me. (Pointing to Rafe) That's my sister Rafe, she is from Ethiopia and adopted and special too." Rafe then chimed in with her tiny 2 yr old voice, "yeah!" Then Peniel pointed to Sedric who was standing by her side like her shadow, "This is my brother Sedric, he isn't adopted...HE'S JUST A WHITE BOY."
Sedric is just a white boy...poor kid. I still don't know how I will tell him when he is older that he isn't Ethiopian or adopted. It will break his little white boy heart when I have to sit him down and have the "veil tearing" adoption talk with him, and somehow say to him, "No Sedric, you are not adopted."
On a serious note, this interaction between our girls and the neighbors confirmed to me that both our girls have a very healthy understanding of adoption. The moment Peniel began to explain to the neighbors her place in our family, my adoptive mom heart sighed a deep sigh of relief. All the heart to hearts with my girls about adoption, about their adoptions, all the prayers I prayed that God would help their hearts to understand and to not suffer any wounds from my fumbling through the hard conversations, all the times I held them and cried with them through the pain of understanding...all of it was worth it to hear in her voice, that she knows she is loved. That she accepts her story. I am so glad I never skirted around the conversations, but addressed them as they came up. It was worth it.
If you are an adoptive parent, don't be afraid of saying the wrong things to your adoptive child when they ask you questions about their story. Just speak from your heart, your love for them will help you find the right words. Your child will respond more to the love in your voice and the love in your eyes during those hard conversations than the pain from the words you have to speak to them. Truth without love brings damage, but TRUTH WITH LOVE HEALS.
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A few weeks ago, while unloading groceries out of our van, the neighbor kids stopped by for the first time since we had moved into the neighborhood. They looked at me, then looked and Peniel, then Rafe, then Sedric. I could tell they were trying to put the pieces of our mosaic family together in their heads. Finally, the oldest boy blurts out, "Are these your kids?" I smiled and said yes. Feeling more bold, he asks again (pointing at Peniel and Rafe), "Even these two?" I smiled again and said yes. Before I could give them a few facts about our family, Peniel, my 5 yr old veteran talker, makes her presence known in the conversation. She said, "I'm Peniel, I'm Ethiopian and I'm adopted because I'm really special, and my mom really wanted me. (Pointing to Rafe) That's my sister Rafe, she is from Ethiopia and adopted and special too." Rafe then chimed in with her tiny 2 yr old voice, "yeah!" Then Peniel pointed to Sedric who was standing by her side like her shadow, "This is my brother Sedric, he isn't adopted...HE'S JUST A WHITE BOY."
Sedric is just a white boy...poor kid. I still don't know how I will tell him when he is older that he isn't Ethiopian or adopted. It will break his little white boy heart when I have to sit him down and have the "veil tearing" adoption talk with him, and somehow say to him, "No Sedric, you are not adopted."
On a serious note, this interaction between our girls and the neighbors confirmed to me that both our girls have a very healthy understanding of adoption. The moment Peniel began to explain to the neighbors her place in our family, my adoptive mom heart sighed a deep sigh of relief. All the heart to hearts with my girls about adoption, about their adoptions, all the prayers I prayed that God would help their hearts to understand and to not suffer any wounds from my fumbling through the hard conversations, all the times I held them and cried with them through the pain of understanding...all of it was worth it to hear in her voice, that she knows she is loved. That she accepts her story. I am so glad I never skirted around the conversations, but addressed them as they came up. It was worth it.
If you are an adoptive parent, don't be afraid of saying the wrong things to your adoptive child when they ask you questions about their story. Just speak from your heart, your love for them will help you find the right words. Your child will respond more to the love in your voice and the love in your eyes during those hard conversations than the pain from the words you have to speak to them. Truth without love brings damage, but TRUTH WITH LOVE HEALS.
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Bathroom Entourage
Some people wish for bigger houses, nicer cars, more money...I used to be one of those people, before children. Now, 3 kids deep into my life, I would settle for being able to walk into the bathroom BY MYSELF.
Everytime I need to use the bathroom, the following scenario comes into play with only small variations day to day to distinguish between each bathroom visit.
I enter the bathroom, dogs follow.
Little dog tries to hump big dog, I yell at him, he stops.
I close the door quietly, not wanting to attract the children's attention.
I sit down, I think to myself, "Its so quiet in here."
I smile at my dogs, they smile back at me.
I look at the walls for the first time in months, and realize there are hand prints everywhere;
I make a mental note to clean them when finished, knowing deep down I will never actually do it...EVER.
I think about decorating...
I begin to...well, you know...
Children begin fighting.
Somebody bites somebody.
Somebody Shanghai's a toy from somebody.
Somebody begins yelling at somebody because they are being too loud during cartoons.
Somebody realizes I am MIA.
ALL the somebodies begin looking for me...
I hold my breath, I tell the dogs to do the same...they don't...that's when they find us.
Tiny fists begin pounding against the door.
Somebody throws their weight against the door.
Somebody tries to look through the key hole.
Somebody reaches their tiny hand under the door,
the dogs sniff the hand.
Somebody screams, "MAMA!!
I debate if I should answer...
but I do answer because I am a mom after all.
The oldest child throws the door open,
the two littlest kids fall in landing on the dogs and on my toes.
My toes begin to hurt.
Oldest kid leaves to finish her cartoon now that she has successfully dumped the two screaming somebodies on my doorstep.
Second littlest kid asks me, "what doing?"
The baby tries to climb on my bare lap, which I am trying to keep from happening.
Both kids are trying to to show me the bite marks from their siblings teeth, demanding justice.
I begin doling out judgements from my porcelain throne like King Solomon.
After a few moments of empty threats nothing changes, the littles are still fighting,
and then snack bribery becomes a valid parenting tool...
Bribery ensures.
I offer a special, "desperate times/desperate measures" non organic snack bribe.
Kids accept the NON ORGANIC snack bribe.
Kids begin forgiving each other and become best friends per the terms of the NON ORGANIC snack bribe agreement.
Kids finally leave the bathroom.
I sigh again.
Little dog begins humping big dog again.
I yell at little dog again, he stops again.
I finish up my delayed business.
I leave the bathroom nervous and un-relaxed.
I start planning tomorrows bathroom strategy in my head.
Little dog begins humping big dog, I yell at him, he stops.
Now repeat everyday for the next 4 years until youngest child is in kindergarten.
If you enjoyed this post, please vote for my blog! Just click the Top Mommy Blogs icon on the upper right...that's all ya gotta do! I truly appreciate it!!
Everytime I need to use the bathroom, the following scenario comes into play with only small variations day to day to distinguish between each bathroom visit.
I enter the bathroom, dogs follow.
Little dog tries to hump big dog, I yell at him, he stops.
I close the door quietly, not wanting to attract the children's attention.
I sit down, I think to myself, "Its so quiet in here."
I smile at my dogs, they smile back at me.
I look at the walls for the first time in months, and realize there are hand prints everywhere;
I make a mental note to clean them when finished, knowing deep down I will never actually do it...EVER.
I think about decorating...
I begin to...well, you know...
Children begin fighting.
Somebody bites somebody.
Somebody Shanghai's a toy from somebody.
Somebody begins yelling at somebody because they are being too loud during cartoons.
Somebody realizes I am MIA.
ALL the somebodies begin looking for me...
I hold my breath, I tell the dogs to do the same...they don't...that's when they find us.
Tiny fists begin pounding against the door.
Somebody throws their weight against the door.
Somebody tries to look through the key hole.
Somebody reaches their tiny hand under the door,
the dogs sniff the hand.
Somebody screams, "MAMA!!
I debate if I should answer...
but I do answer because I am a mom after all.
The oldest child throws the door open,
the two littlest kids fall in landing on the dogs and on my toes.
My toes begin to hurt.
Oldest kid leaves to finish her cartoon now that she has successfully dumped the two screaming somebodies on my doorstep.
Second littlest kid asks me, "what doing?"
The baby tries to climb on my bare lap, which I am trying to keep from happening.
Both kids are trying to to show me the bite marks from their siblings teeth, demanding justice.
I begin doling out judgements from my porcelain throne like King Solomon.
After a few moments of empty threats nothing changes, the littles are still fighting,
and then snack bribery becomes a valid parenting tool...
Bribery ensures.
I offer a special, "desperate times/desperate measures" non organic snack bribe.
Kids accept the NON ORGANIC snack bribe.
Kids begin forgiving each other and become best friends per the terms of the NON ORGANIC snack bribe agreement.
Kids finally leave the bathroom.
I sigh again.
Little dog begins humping big dog again.
I yell at little dog again, he stops again.
I finish up my delayed business.
I leave the bathroom nervous and un-relaxed.
I start planning tomorrows bathroom strategy in my head.
Little dog begins humping big dog, I yell at him, he stops.
Now repeat everyday for the next 4 years until youngest child is in kindergarten.
If you enjoyed this post, please vote for my blog! Just click the Top Mommy Blogs icon on the upper right...that's all ya gotta do! I truly appreciate it!!
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