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.

talking about race

Race is one of those things that I have hesitated to write about for a few reasons. It is scary to me to write on such a far-reaching and loaded topic because two of my biggest fears are being misunderstood and offending people, and race might be the topic most prone to misunderstanding and offense in the whole universe. I'm also hesitant to write anything about race because I know I can say something but I can't begin to say everything, which means I'll leave something out and not say what I really mean and not give this topic the thorough and nuanced treatment it merits.

Buuuuuuut, those are all basically excuses. As a transracial adoptive parent, this is something I can't afford to be afraid to talk about, so today I'm diving in and sharing my thoughts, questions, and ideas about race.

Three years ago I would have told you that the issue of race did not play a major role in my life (spoken like a true white person). I did not believe myself to hold any racial biases. I believed that America was a place where people of any race could succeed if they worked hard enough, and the election of our first black president seemed to put an exclamation point on that sentiment.

What do I believe about race in America now? I'm not sure. I do know that in terms of racial equality, this country started on a very bad foot, and that the echoes of those beginnings still ring loudly today. I grew up and remain today largely shielded from that noise, but that doesn't make it any less real.

I am a product of White Privilege. I'm not ashamed of that, I don't feel guilty for that, and I can't apologize for that because I didn't choose to be born white, nor did I create the system which afforded me such privilege. I believe that my whiteness has been a critical factor in my success in school, sports, and relationships throughout my life. If you misinterpret that statement it could actually come across as being racist, so let me clarify: I am not saying that being white in and of itself made me a better student, better athlete, or better friend/wife/mom. I am saying that the systems and institutions of our society provided me, my (white) parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, and on down the line, with unearned privileges that significantly impacted our ability to succeed... because we were white.

Maybe that last paragraph makes you roll your eyes and say "duh." Maybe it makes you confused. Maybe it makes you yell at your computer screen, "What are you talking about?! What about poor, unsuccessful white people?! What about rich, successful black people?! What about all the hard work that you and your family members before you put in to earn the success you all achieved?!"

Fair questions. Questions I just wrote 450 words trying to answer and then erased them all because they didn't even scratch the surface.

Other people have written clearly and thoughtfully about this, and rather than trying to summarize their words, I'll just tell you why I decided to listen to them. During the process of preparing to parent a child of another race, I had to come face to face with the truth that I didn't (don't?) have the first clue what my son will experience as a child of color. I realized that the sum total of my knowledge about race in America today could fit on the head of a pin. I stopped talking and started listening. The things I heard sounded strange, impossible even, but I had to remind myself, I wouldn't know.

It might sound magnanimous to say that race doesn't matter in adoption. Love is colorblind, and all that. I can say that race doesn't matter, because it's never had to matter for me. But it might very well matter to my son. And if I am not equipped to understand or even acknowledge that reality then I am leaving him out in the cold on a critical identity issue. Please, let's not do this to our kids. Let's not be afraid of race. Let's not shove it in a back corner and pretend it doesn't exist. Let's put it on the table and talk about it, because our children learn from what we don't say as much as from what we do.

Our first-grader is learning about Martin Luther King Jr. this week at school. He was telling me what he had learned about the civil rights movement, and I shared with him that racial discrimination and prejudice still exists today, though they take different forms than in MLK's time. N considered this, then looked up at me and asked, "Then who is helping today, Mommy?" Gulp. "We need to," I told him. And we do. I'm still bumbling my way through figuring out exactly how we do that, but I won't put my head back in the sand and pretend it doesn't need to happen.

Books, Links, & Resources
[this is a VERY incomplete list -- less of a resource list and more like a road map of my specific journey]
-------------------------------------------
White Like Me, by Tim Wise -- start here.
Uncle Tom's Cabin, by Harriet Beecher Stowe -- slavery sucks.
White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack, by Peggy McIntosh -- free pdf
The Sword of the Lord, by Andrew Himes -- this one is not focused on racism, but it gives a window into race & conservative Christianity in the 20th century.
The Same Kind of Different As Me, by Ron Hall and Denver Moore -- again, not a book about racism specifically, but Denver's story blew my mind.
Love is NOT Colorblind, from the Livesay [Haiti] blog
Parenting While Not Noticing Race, from the Adoption Talk blog
Love Isn't Enough, blog about race and parenting
Racialicious, blog about race and pop culture

**What's missing from this list: more stuff written by people of color. Thanks for your patience, I'm working on it.



**What's missing from this picture of our boys and their cousins on J's side? You guessed it - more people of color! Thanks for your patience, and no, we're not working on it yet... but hopefully someday. :)

worth celebrating

This week Z had an appointment with his doctor, a pediatrician who specializes in international adoption medicine. We haven't seen her for 6 months so it was time to check in, get some shots, and run some routine follow-up lab tests. If you asked Z how it went, you'd probably get mixed reviews: Well, they did have chalk and a chalkboard in the room and I got cookies afterward, but I also got something sprayed up my nose and lots of needles stuck in me. Fair point. Z may not have loved it, but from a mama perspective it turned out to be a huge blessing.

In the somewhat-controlled chaos that is life with 3 little boys, most days it is hard to see beyond the dirty socks and sibling squabbles to notice the miracles God is doing in our family. Like standing too close to a Monet, it's basically just a big mess until you step back and look at the whole thing. That's what this doctor visit gave me -- a chance to back up and look again. I looked down at the Patient Information form we fill out at each visit and realized I could circle "no" under every single thing in the "Do You Have Concerns About Your Child's..." column. I could place a check mark under all the developmental milestones for his age. I could fill out the whole form without hesitating or thinking, "Well, maybe this is an issue but I don't know him well enough yet to be sure." I gotta say, that felt awesome.

Maybe it's because Z is two and a half, maybe it's because I tend toward perfectionism, maybe it's because three children are constantly asking me for three different things and thus monopolizing the bulk of my mental space, but I don't often sit back and simply celebrate how amazingly well Z is doing. It is worth celebrating! I think sometimes my hyper-analytical self thinks that if I dwell on how great he is doing it will undermine the real difficulties he has faced and may continue to face as he integrates his past and present stories and situations. Plus I'm kind of allergic to sugarcoating stuff, which is fine I suppose, but that doesn't mean I can't celebrate the very real victories God has given us. And so...

We celebrate health: Z is growing well and has not struggled with any persistent health problems since coming home.

We celebrate healing: Z's club foot is, in my not-so-professional opinion, completely healed. He is a speedy little runner and kicks a mean soccer ball. Nothing's gonna hold him back!

We celebrate development: Z's language, gross motor, fine motor, cognitive, and social skills are all within the normal range for his age.

We celebrate progress: Z still likes to throw a good fit and pick fights over control issues, but he is able to recover from these things much more quickly than he did at first. I know what works to calm him down, what tone of voice will comfort him, and what phrases will resonate with him in a given situation. And he knows family skills like saying sorry, asking nicely, and using words before hands (well, we're working on it anyway).

We celebrate love: It would be impossible to count the number of kisses Z gives me in the course of one day. He is so sweet and affectionate it can actually be overwhelming at times! He loves us. We love him. It took time and patience and tears, but God gave us love for one another and it grows every day.

Yes, there are messes and mess-ups and mishaps, but I hope those things never keep me from seeing the bigger things that God is doing. He is working, both in the daily challenges and the greater context, and that is always worth celebrating.


Celebrating cousins / best-buddies.

faking it till i make it

Equal parts cute and fierce.

The only downside to having a series of good days is that it really makes the bad days sting. We've had a long string of good days, weeks even, but yesterday was one of those stingers. From the moment he woke up to the time he went to bed (30 minutes earlier than usual, for the good of the household) Z was testing boundaries, pushing buttons, pulling out all his old behaviors, and just generally acting disagreeable.

So how did I handle it (besides sitting on the kitchen floor crying for half of nap time, obviously)? I faked it. I have learned the hard way that showing Z how much his behavior upsets me is playing right into his hand. Reacting to his attempts to manipulate and control situations only fuels the fire. The only effective technique I've found for neutralizing these situations is to plaster a smile on my face, pretend I don't notice he's playing a game, and go on with the task at hand. It makes him furious at first of course, but eventually he gives up because its no fun to play manipulation games by yourself.

When Z behaves this way my visceral gut reaction is anger. I get mad. I don't want to smile, I don't want to keep my voice light and sweet, I don't want to be patient and calm. A child older than Z would probably pick up the falsely saccharine tone to my voice and know I was faking, but its the best I can do and thank God it works for now.

Faking my way through the day yesterday may have been necessary, but it still felt awful. I hate feeling anger toward my child. I hate keeping my feelings bottled up. It is exhausting to keep it together when someone is testing your limits all day long. But a good cry, a hot bath and a margarita (OK fine, two margaritas) later, I felt much better and I was able to step back from the trials of the day and be thankful. Thankful for the many good days that came before this ugly one. Thankful for a growing confidence in God's provision as we parent our kids. Thankful for a God who is never faking it, but somehow always genuinely loving and gentle toward us no matter what we throw at him. I'm praying for that kind of love to work its way so deeply into my being that I can't help but give it to others, especially my children. Until then I'll keep faking it till I make it.

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.

what i didn't know: HIV

I recently found out about an organization called Project Hopeful, and I wanted to share a few things I didn't know before I read their amazing Frequently Asked Questions page:

*There has never been a case of HIV/AIDS transmission as a result of normal, family life. This means that children who are HIV+ do not pose a risk to other family members in the home. Using basic precautions when dealing with blood (i.e. injuries), which everyone should be using at all times with all individuals anyway, will always prevent transmission of the disease, and HIV cannot be passed by sweat, snot, urine, feces, tears, or saliva.

*HIV is chronic but manageable disease. Children with HIV who receive treatment have a completely normal life expectancy.

*In all likelihood, the biggest challenge that children in the US with HIV/AIDS (whether they are adopted by US parents or born in the US) will face is not health-related. The biggest challenge they will face has nothing to do with their white blood cell count or cold and flu season. The single biggest challenge that HIV+ kids will face in America is stigma.

*This stigma exists because Americans stopped learning about HIV in the '80s. We were terrified by Magic Johnson's diagnosis and Ryan White's death, so we froze with fear and stopped learning. Hello, people - Magic Johnson is still alive and kicking 20 years later and he is not that young! If you had asked me a year ago whether I would want my child to be on a sports team with another child who was HIV+, I would have at least hesitated, if not immediately said no. Why? Ignorance, fear, and misinformation. If my son was exposed to HIV from a basketball teammate we have other HUGE problems because that means they were either sharing needles or having sex. If you are not worried about those two things happening in your family, classroom, sports team, neighborhood BBQ, or play group, then you should also not worry about having an HIV+ child be part of those groups or activities.

What I don't know about all this could still fill a book, but I'm glad to be learning -- better late than never!