you want me on that wall

Like most two-year-olds, Z has a love-hate relationship with boundaries. It's no surprise that he loves to push them, but one thing I've learned the hard way is that he actually hates to break them.

Here's a scene that has happened more than once in our house:

Me: Z, go pick out a book to read before nap.

Z: No! No book.

Me (before learning aforementioned lesson about boundaries): No book? Are you sure?

Z: NO BOOK.

Me: Okay, no book.

Z: Booooooooooook!

Me: No, Z it's too late. You said no book, and Mommy listens to your words, so no book today.

[commence screaming fit that hijacks entire pre-nap routine]

Z loves to act like he wants control, but most of the time he hates to actually have it. If adoption and child development literature is right, children need boundaries (i.e. areas over which they have no control) in order to feel safe, and children need to feel safe in order to form an attachment with their parent or caregiver. Therefore, healthy attachment depends on keeping good boundaries. I am positive I read this multiple times before and after Z came home, but now I can see it with my own eyes. The screaming fit from the scenario above is not about anger or frustration - it's about fear. We always read a book before bed. It's part of a routine that helps him feel safe. By giving him the power to change the routine, I have removed a source of safety for him without any warning: he is understandably terrified.

The climactic courtroom scene from A Few Good Men is one of my favorites. [If you haven't seen that movie, I am not going to summarize. Just go watch it. And please appreciate the awesome early 90's casual outfits Demi Moore sports in the case preparation scenes. Were our jeans really that high-waisted? Amazing.] Anyway, sometimes the lines from Jack Nicholson's character pop into my head in these situations with Z. "You want me on that wall," he says. "You need me on that wall." OK, so maybe I'm not a colonel at Gitmo and I'm definitely not ordering any code reds. But Z does want to know that somebody is standing on the wall, protecting him, not only from outside forces, but from himself. I need to remind myself of that, of the value in standing my ground and sticking to the plan, even when he presses me to do otherwise.

Here's a revised version of the previous scenario, which still plays out on a daily basis in our home:

Me: Wait a minute Z, don't eat yet - I have to get your bib.

Z: No! No bib, Mommy.

Me: Z, it is lunchtime. At lunchtime we always wear a bib.

Z: NO. BIB. MOMMY.

Me: (putting on bib) Sorry dude, that's how it goes.

And guess what? He might pout for a minute, but most of the time he gets over it way faster than when I give in to his boundary-pushing demands. The comfort of consistency and routine trumps the frustration of not getting his way. Of course at some point it will become developmentally appropriate to change his routines and introduce flexibility and autonomy into more areas of his life. I'm sure that will hold new challenges with more steep learning curves. But for now I'm happy to play it safe, knowing that these days of stability and familiarity are laying a foundation for years of trust and love.

the runaway bunny

I wouldn't say it's his favorite book, but he comes back to it every so often, sometimes just once, sometimes over and over for days on end. I'm always achingly grateful when he does. He has learned how to throw out a flare, but I still wish he didn't have to.

We turn the pages slowly, pausing at each illustration to find the wayward bunny hiding in the garden or disguised on a mountainside. What is he running away from? I wonder. His home under the tree looks warm and cozy and his mama is crazy about him. He is offered safety, security, and relationship but instead he seeks out danger, isolation, and independence. Awfully human, this little fella.

Who am I? Who loves me? How do I know?

In the story, it is the mother bunny who chases after her baby; Z tells it his own way. His finger finds the little bunny, then slowly traces a path across the page from child... to mother. The ache eases: he is home.

wild weather, perfect feet, and a quick getaway

It's been crazy around here lately: snow, ice, unexpected house guests, power outages, a weekend away, and an exciting trip to the doctor, all in the last 7 days!

Last week we had our first (and hopefully only) major snow event of the season, which meant no school, no work, and no driving anywhere for a few days. Then an ice storm hit, followed by more snow, which meant many downed trees and branches, causing power outages that affected us and over 300,000 other residents for two full days (and longer for some). In the meantime, we took in some friends of friends who were stranded in Seattle for three days trying to get back to Southern California. We love house guests and the boys were thrilled to make friends with Kristen and Karen, a mother/daughter pair from Orange County - great folks.





Anyway, the reason I'm bothering to blog about this is because in the midst of this big storm we still managed to make it across the city to Z's follow up appointment with his pediatric orthopedic doctor. I didn't want to drive that far in the ice and snow, but when I called to reschedule their next available was in May! Considering there was a possibility that Z might need surgery in April I was not about to wait that long, so we borrowed my parents' 4WD SUV and braved the roads. It turned out to be worth the trip because the doc took one good look at Z's foot and pronounced his club foot to be totally corrected! He recommended we continue to use his orthotic brace at night until he turns three, and he wants to see us again in a year, but other than that we are DONE. Praise God!

In other exciting news, last weekend J and I had our first overnight trip away from the boys since Z came home. We went to Vegas for... wait for it... a baptism. Isn't that why everyone goes to Vegas? Our dear friends Mike and Nicole (who live there) asked us to be the godparents for their beautiful baby boy, who happens to share a name with Z. We were honored, and happy to come out for the baptism (OK, and a little fun at the tables too -- we actually won $70!).



This was our first time leaving Z for that long, and he did great. My parents were out of town too, but thankfully Z's preschool teacher is also a close family friend and one of the few people we would completely trust with all 3 of our boys, so she and her husband stayed with the kids and the weekend went well (aside from a few potty accidents... sorry Colleen! You're the best!). We've been back two days and so far I haven't seen any signs that our time away had any negative impact on Z or our attachment process... which means we should do it again soon, right?!

When I think back to where we were about 9 months ago, these two milestones seem utterly unbelievable. At that time Z's foot was in a cast, he hadn't been put to bed or fed by (much less left alone with) anyone but us since coming home, and I could just barely make out a pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel. I am so humbled and thankful for all that God has done to bring us from there to here!

yielding

Yield (oil on canvas), by Bryan Haynes

Yesterday Z lay in his crib at naptime and sang songs, told stories, and had a grand old time not sleeping. I gave up after an hour and went in to him. Nothing seemed to be wrong - clean diaper, noise machine on, and comfort items within reach - so I just held him quietly in the rocker and cuddled. I pressed my lips to his sweet head, smelled his coconut conditioner, and thanked God for this precious child.

Just as his breathing started to slow and I thought he might actually fall asleep after all, I heard D get out of bed. Now let me tell you that my dear darling D may have just turned 4, but the kid walks like a 300 pound gorilla.

Boom. D jumped to the floor. Z's eyes fluttered open.

Thump, thump, thump, thump. D lumbered down the hallway. Z shifted in my arms.

Mommy! D shout-whispered from the doorway to Z's room. I want to get up now!

I tried nodding and gesturing but that induced more shout-whispers so I finally whispered back, OK hon, go read books in the living room.

Thump, thump, thud. D dropped a book on the hardwood.

Squeak, rustle, squeak. D made himself comfortable on the noisy leather couch, right in Z's line of sight.

Sigh.

A wave of frustration swelled and churned. Why didn't Z nap in his crib like he usually does? Why did D have to be so loud at just the wrong moment? Why don't my kids just do what I want them to do when I want them to do it? But right before my grumbling grew into a full-blown whine-fest, the Holy Spirit broke through and pulled me up short with a simple truth: love yields.

What does this mean? It means that if we are going to live together in love, D is going to wake Z up from his nap too early, and Z is going to color on N's field trip permission slip, and N is going to eat the last of D's favorite cereal, and Mommy is going to forget to bring a lollipop to Supercuts even though she promised, and Daddy is going to accidentally recycle D's preschool registration form... and you know what? It's OK. Good, even. Because in those moments we are given the opportunity to yield to each other, to give grace to each other, to express love for each other in the small community that is our family.

Having three young boys means life is messy, but I am learning to see the mess differently. I want to teach my children that living in community means learning to yield to one another in the messiness. I'm pretty sure this won't be as simple as saying, "Gee N, isn't it great that D wrecked your Lego castle? Now you can show him love by responding with grace!" To be honest, I don't really know what this looks like exactly. But I'm told that kids learn more from watching than listening, so I guess I'll start by trying to actually do it, God helping me.

By the way, yesterday? Z totally fell asleep anyway, despite his brothers thumps, booms, and thuds. Ohhhh, so thankful.

i guess we're doing ok after all

When I was in 4th grade my teacher had a coupon system. Everyone got 10 coupons at the beginning of the year and each coupon was like a 'get out of jail free' card for turning in your homework late, but if you kept all 10 coupons the whole year there was some special prize. I don't think I'd ever turned in homework late, but for some reason this whole system pushed my crazy button. I remember sobbing in my bed because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to keep all 10 coupons all year. My mom rubbed my back and told me it didn't matter, that I should just do my best and not put so much pressure on myself.

Fast forward 20+ years and I am still not taking her advice.

True, there are no coupons or prizes in adoptive parenting but that hasn't stopped me from putting insane amounts of pressure on myself to do it all just right. And you can imagine the resulting neurosis, since there is no right way to do any of this. "I'm just so afraid I'm gonna mess him up," I told my sister the other day. "Oh, you will," was her immediate reply. "We all do. No sense being afraid of it." She is younger than me, but a far sight smarter.

The trouble started a few weeks ago when Z began having trouble at bedtime and reverting to some old behaviors. Normal, right? Not the end of the world. But in the blink of an eye guilt, fear, and pride crept in and turned a small setback for Z into a huge messy pit for his mama. I fell down the wormhole of worry and forgot a lot of important things on the way.* I forgot to take a long view of things and to accept setbacks as a normal part of the journey. I forgot that I am not in control. I forgot to give myself grace. Most significantly, I forgot that Z belongs first to God. His life, all of it - good, bad, painful, and beautiful - belongs to God. I am Z's parent, but I am not his creator, his healer, or his savior.

And in that truth there is great freedom to let go of all this pressure. The pressure to know exactly what is going on inside him... his Creator knows. The pressure to heal what is broken... only the Healer has power to do that. And the pressure to do it all right so that he will look back someday and be OK with himself and his life... Jesus Christ is the only thing that makes anything OK. I pray that Z knows this for himself one day, but that is the work of the Holy Spirit.

By the way, the real issue behind the sleep and behavior problems? Good ol' fashioned separation anxiety. I figured it out when I dropped Z off at the church nursery and, for the first time ever, he had a total melt-down. The exact same kind he's been having at every bedtime. I probably looked like a horrible mom as I walked away grinning, but I was so happy to have an answer I couldn't help it. Now at bedtime I give him extra reassurance (Mommy is right here, I'll be close by, I'm not leaving just stepping outside the room, etc), and pop my head back in the room a few times to prove that I haven't disappeared... and it works! He lays his head down and goes to sleep. All that drama and worry, and it turns out the kid likes us enough to be sad when we leave. I guess we're doing OK after all.

*I also cried big alligator tears of self-pity at the YWAM Ethiopia moms group last week... and arrived late... and left early... and I'm the one who organizes the group. Yeah, it was that kind of week. Thanks for the grace and Kleenex, friends!

family life and unmet needs

When we first brought Z home our biggest priority was to connect with him and meet his needs. We did our best to learn what his needs were and to teach him how to express those needs to us so that we could meet them. Keep in mind, this doesn't mean we gave him everything he wanted all the time, but we did use every opportunity we could to build trust through meeting his needs for comfort, food, sleep, affection, space, recreation, etc.

As you can imagine, this required (and continues to require) a great deal of our attention, focus, and energy, which has not been without consequence for our other two boys. Though I tried hard not to marginalize them, I didn't always succeed, and there were times where I unintentionally sent the message that Z's needs were more important than theirs. My 6 year old didn't feel this as much because he is older and can be independent with a lot of things, but my 3 year old felt it. He put up with it for a few months, but a couple of weeks ago he decided he'd had enough. He was going to demand his mommy's full attention again no matter what it took. So suddenly I had not one, but two very high-needs children in my home and life got... um, interesting.

Thank God for the wise people he has put in my life. My friend Chris also has a 2 year old and a 3 year old (and, ahem, SEVEN other children - she's amazing), so I shared my struggle with her at a recent adoptive mom gathering. "They both need the same thing from me all the time and I can't meet both their needs at the same time!" I whined. And do you know what she said? She said, That's OK. That's OK? What? But Z is adopted! I have to meet his needs! I have to build his trust! True, and I am doing those things. But Z also lives in a family, and in families we share, not only toys and books and food, but also parents. And that's OK. When he has to wait for D to be done snuggling with me before he gets his turn I am not rejecting him or letting his needs go unmet. I am teaching him how to live and love in a family. I am teaching him that, in our family, we are all valuable, we all need love and affection, and we all matter. It will take a few tears and fits, but I know it will be a lesson worth learning for all of us.

eye contact & the tickle game

We have been working on eye contact as a way to foster connection and bonding. Z hasn't had any issues with eye contact per se, but the way I see it we have two years of eye contact to catch up on so it's always good to work on it!

Here is a little tickle game we played today that turned out to be a great way to lock eyes with each other. We sat face to face with Z on my lap, then I climbed my fingers up his belly or legs making a little sing-song noise of anticipation. He would watch my fingers, but then I would pause and wait for him to look up at me. When he looked up I would tickle him like crazy and he would giggle and hold the eye contact for several seconds. It was way too much fun for both of us! Enough explaining, see for yourself (ignore the 6 year old reading loudly in the background):

round trip

Our family just returned from 9 lovely days in West Michigan with family. We swam in Lake Michigan, attended a family wedding, and made many memories with grandparents, auntie, uncle, and our boys' very first girl cousin. It was a wonderful week!

This trek was significant for Z, not only because he was meeting many family members for the first time, but also because it was his first ever round-trip. He has left home so many times, but this is the first time he has ever come back. This thought was never far from my mind as I watched him throughout the week, observing how he reacted to new people, new environments, and new experiences. For the most part, he did amazingly well. He took cues from his brothers and warmed up quickly to his grandparents and other family members, he explored the new surroundings with excitement, and enjoyed many fun 'firsts'.

But about halfway through the week there was a subtle shift. Behaviors re-emerged. He seemed moodier and more touchy. And, most significantly, he started asking about people back home. In the middle of playing he would look up at me with big questioning eyes: Papa? Nana? Yes sweetie, we will see them in a few days. This seemed acceptable for the moment and he would go back to his toys. A few hours later: Joooey? No-Nos? Yep, we will see your cousins soon.

On the one hand, I was thrilled to see evidence of the strong connections he has built with his Nana and Papa and cousins. They are special to him, and he missed them while we were gone. At the same time, I couldn't help thinking about all the other people he has left behind in his life... He missed them too, and probably misses them still, but doesn't have a framework for talking about those losses yet. I don't know how that will change as he grows and matures, but as his mom I pray I will be sensitive enough to provide space for him to feel and acknowledge and grieve for those people whenever he needs to do so.

On a positive note, I am hoping that this experience of returning after being away will deepen his understanding of home as a permanent place, a safe place, a place of comfort and familiarity. Thankfully the series of one-way tickets which characterized his first two years of life is finished, and no matter how often he leaves home from now on he can always come back.

ewedehalo

The first week Z was home we both cried a lot. Besides jetlag and exhaustion, one frequent source of my tears was the awkwardness and pain of loving a child who didn't yet love me back. While giving Z his nightly bottle I would pause my singing to whisper to him in Amharic and English, "Ewedehalo, Mommy loves you." My affections were met with scowls and screeches, which would escalate into a full-blown tantrum if I kept it up. So I'd pick up the song where I left off, warm tears sliding down my cheeks and dropping onto his coarse brown curls.

Eventually I stuck to singing at bedtime and saved my "I love yous" for other times. Soon enough he warmed up to the phrase and within a few weeks he was saying it back to us and his brothers. Tears again, but happy ones this time.

Tonight as I sang to him, I realized that although Z had learned to say "I love you" in English, I hadn't tried saying it to him in Amharic since those first couple of weeks. I stopped singing, bent close to him and whispered it, Ewedehalo. He looked up at me, but didn't scowl or whine. I said it again. Ewedehalo. A smile slowly crept across his face. Ewedehalo. He was grinning. Ewedehalo. Happily nodding, giggling, looking right into my eyes. Ewedehalo. Ewedehalo. Ewedehalo. Over and over and over I said it to him, making up for the lost days and weeks and months. Rivers of tears spilled down and prayers of joyful thanksgiving rose up, praising the God who loved us first so that we could love each other. Ewedehalo, my sweet boy.


Z & me signing "I love you," this was the night he said it for the first time.

surfing

N & Mommy


J charging a wave

Before we had kids we loved to go surfing together. We lived in LA and we'd go as often as we could, to the local beach before work or down to Orange County on the weekend. Surfing is one of those things that is really fun once you get the hang of it, but pretty brutal in the meantime. There's a steep learning curve, and you're gonna go 'over the falls' (surfer lingo for getting tossed upside down in a wave) a few times. But the feeling you get when you find your footing and cruise down the face of a wave for the first time... it's indescribable, and makes every lungful of saltwater worth it.

We are learning to surf again. Not in the break at Redondo Beach, but on the unpredictable and exhilarating waves of life with a newly-adopted toddler. The number one rule of surfing is always respect the ocean. Don't turn your back on it, don't get complacent, don't think you know what's coming next. The ocean we must respect these days is our son's healing heart. Though we are novices in these waters and have gone over the falls a few times, we are starting to get our bearings. Here are a few strategies that have helped me catch some waves this week...

Movement
When Z is in a funk, or mad at me for imposing a limit on him (I don't let him play with knives, I am so mean!), it can be very hard to bring him out of the bad mood. One thing that works almost without fail is playful movement - especially the kind of movement that activates the vestibular and proprioceptive senses. Tossing him in the air, rolling him in a blanket like a burrito, swinging him backwards and forwards between my legs, flipping him upside down, spinning him around, are all ways to do this and he loves them all. A few minutes of these activities and he will go from scowling and throwing stuff at me to giggling and smiling into my eyes! There are some moods that are immune even to this, but 9 times out of 10 it does the trick.

Pretend & Role Play
Another strategy that has helped me connect with Z in the tough moments is using stuffed toys as a sort of 'intermediary' between us to help bridge the gap. He gets mad at me (or maybe just mad). I don't like it, but I am learning to accept it as a normal part of our journey together. When he is mad, he won't make eye contact, he won't give or accept affection, he won't engage with me in play or respond when I talk to him (unless you count angry grunts or screams, which I don't). Using a stuffed animal has helped us to reconnect in a few ways. I can use the stuffed animal to model appropriate behavior to Z (i.e. giving and receiving affection, gentle touch, interactive play). I can also allow Z to interact with me through the toy -- even when he is unwilling to interact with me directly, he will often still indirectly engage with me by making the animal give me kisses or play with me. I can then slowly transition from interacting with the toy to interacting with him as he is ready and comfortable.

That's all I have time for today -- my little surfer dudes are up from their naps and the waves are rolling in... surf's up!

building continuity: the three-photo story

Since we got home with Z (8 weeks on Monday!) I have been slowly working my way through the book "Parenting Your Internationally Adopted Child" by Patty Cogen. So far I have found it to be a hugely helpful resource and I highly recommend it to other adoptive and soon-to-be-adoptive families.

One of the suggestions we have implemented from the book is called a Three-Photo Story. In the course of her work with international adoptees, Cogen found that developing an integrated sense of self was often a challenge for them. The instability of their early lives sometimes caused children to remain in an alert state even years after their adoption, wondering when the next transition would happen and they would lose everything all over again. The Three-Photo Story is a way to help children establish a coherent time-line of their lives and make sense of what has happened to them, fostering a sense of security and self-confidence.

So, what is a Three-Photo Story? I'm glad you asked! It is three pictures printed on the same sheet side-by-side. Picture 1 is the earliest picture you have of your child, or a picture with his or her first caregiver. Picture 2 is of your child's transition from his or her most recent caregiver into your care (i.e. a photo of you, your spouse, your child, and the caregiver on the day you took custody of your child). Picture 3 is of your child with his whole adoptive family.

We put this together for Z about a month ago, printed up lots of copies, and stashed them in some of his usual haunts (his toy basket, his bookshelf, the coffee table, etc). It has been so interesting to watch his reactions to the pictures over the last month. The first time he saw it, he kissed everyone in the pictures. The first time he said his own name was while looking at it. He can now point to each person and correctly label them. Sometimes he crumples it up and throws it away. Sometimes he asks for it and carries it around the house with him. Sometimes he'll sit on my lap and let me tell him his story while I point to the pictures. Sometimes I show it to him and he pushes it away.

All of these reactions gives us glimpses into how Z is processing the events of his own life. We plan to keep them around for many years, updating Picture 3 as needed. Hopefully they will provide a touch-point for him as he continues to process and grows into the person God made him to be.

it's good for bonding! unless it's not.

As we approach the two-month mark with our sweet boy, I am taking a moment to reflect on what we have learned together. We have learned way more than I have time to blog about right now, but I'll share one quick thing that might be helpful to those on the road with us...

Of course the big focus in this first season is bonding and connecting with Z. In addition to our training and educational home study visits, we also read lots of books, blogs, and articles about connecting with a newly-adopted child. All of this has proved to be immensely helpful to us, and I think the bonding process is going great - better than I would have hoped or expected, in fact. But here's what I'm learning: activities that are supposed to promote bonding are not "one-size-fits-all." Some of them just plain don't work for us, and forcing my child (and myself) to do them doesn't do us any good.

Here's an example. Knowing that mealtime = bonding time, I often chose foods for Z that a) I knew he liked (which meant not always what the rest of the family was eating), and b) I could feed to him. According to adoption literature, feeding by hand helps create a sense of dependence and trust between parent and child, and helps them understand that the parent is the source of food and nourishment, as well as comfort and pleasure. Sounds good! Except sometimes it wasn't. Z did let me feed him sometimes, but other times would refuse to take a single bite from me. More often than not, this led to his meals ending prematurely because he would get madder and madder and eventually escalate into throwing, screaming, etc. Not exactly bonding. I was getting pretty frustrated until we had a breakthrough at breakfast the other day. Before I had gotten him any food he signed "cereal" and pointed to his brothers, who were both eating cereal and milk. I gave him exactly what they had, and decided to let him try eating it with a spoon. He grinned at me, as if to say, "Now you're getting it Mom!" He needed lots of help getting the cereal on the spoon, so I helped him with each bite and gave him a high five every time he got the spoon and cereal to his mouth without dropping it. Not only did he eat tons of cereal, he made lots of eye contact and let me help him throughout the meal -- we were connecting with each other the whole time. I also think it made him feel more like a part of the family to eat the same thing as his brothers. If I had rigidly stuck to my plan of feeding by hand, I'm not sure he would have eaten a single bite of breakfast and I know we wouldn't have had such special moments of connection together.

I am a by-the-book person. Flexibility is not my strong suit. But Z is helping me learn that my job is not to do everything the book says to do: my job is to be the best mom for him. That means listening, observing, being sensitive, and using his cues to help me discern what is best for him in any given situation. Sometimes it means laying down the law and sticking to my guns. Sometimes it means laying down my pride and letting something go when it's not working. Here's hoping I can figure out which is which!

[P.S. Since that breakfast, I have been giving Z exactly what everyone else eats and letting him eat it with utensils and lots of help from me. He is eating way more than before and we are all happier at mealtime!]