The Blue Chair

The Blue Chair

Today, we graduated to the blue chair.

Ok, this might not sound exciting to many people but for me it is cause for celebration.  My son asked me today 'will you be outside the door or in the blue chair'.  I am in the blue chair.  See, the blue chair is downstairs, not outside my son's second story bedroom door.  The blue chair is in front of the t.v.  The blue chair is freedom. 

If I am in the blue chair I can talk on the phone without worrying so much that my children are listening.  If I'm in the blue chair I can run to the kitchen really fast.  If I'm in the blue chair, I am one BIG step further away from my son.  I am in the blue chair.

In the past year I have seen my son progress so much.  He is working hard on becoming independent.  He works on picturing me at home or in the car.  He is working on feeling safe and confident.  He is doing great.

He is doing great, but the blue chair... the blue chair is amazing.

The Matriarch

The Matriarch

Today it occurred to me that I may be the matriarch of my family.  Yep, the matriarch.  I may need a stiff shot of whiskey to handle this.  When my children were littler and struggling with attachment disorder they would work very hard to play my husband and I against each other.  Now, some of this is normal but AD means pushing everything past normal.  Fed up with this I told my children that I was 'the head of the family' that I fact 'I owned everything.  I own the house, the toys, the food, the children.  Everything!'.  My son, always searching for the crack in every bit of logic answered 'you don't own daddy'.  To which I replied, 'yes, I do.  I own everything in the world, including daddy.  I am the head of the family.'

Anyone reading this will recognize that I don't own the world and anyone who knows my husband will recogize that I don't own him.  We're an obnoxiously equal couple; however, my four year old son did not understand this and howled like the end of the world had arrived at our doorstep.  Fights from this point forward centered on me, the head of the family.  My husband was often (but not always) given a pass on the screaming and tantrums because the main push was to dethrone the head of the family, me.

Over time this proved to be one of the smartest things I have ever said to my kids.  When my son was smaller, he focused all of his rage on me.  It wasn't fun but as the mom I was going to get it anyway.  Taking some of it away from my husband gave my son someone to turn to when times were rough.  After all both he and daddy were under the thumb of a repressive dictator.  My daughter quietly examined all of these interactions and then one day announced that she too would be the head of her family.  I smiled.  Then I
explained to her that whatever parent stayed at home was the head of the family and that there were many responsibilities with the position.  She still thinks it's pretty cool.

But I believe I might have become 'The Matriarch' today.  This is not a position that I sought and frankly, I don't want it but it appears to be mine.  With the addition of my MIL to our little family I have stepped up.

Over the last several months I have taken over the bill paying for two households.  I am first point of contact for MIL's doctors.  I am recognized at our local ER.  I am also the one who has to solve the strange problems like... MIL accidently set her microwave on fire and I have to explain to her why she cannot have it back.  Or... the conversation with MIL on why she must take a shower. 

On the other hand, I think I get this title mostly because I don't want it.  When MIL told me that she didn't want to take her medication, I told her to discuss the issue with her doctor and I would back her up 100%.  This scared her (something I didn't foresee) and we haven't discussed it again.  With my son I explain to him that he is in charge of his asthma issues, his medication, his sensory problems.  My job is to help him and to teach him how to handle the problems.  My son has grown so much because I know he is old
enough and smart enough to handle this. 

I've come to realize that being The Matriarch is the easiest and hardest position in the world.  My job is to trust everyone to do their jobs while watching to see that no one drops the ball.  It's a lot of stress and a lot of worry and very little action on my part.

The Birth Parent Search

The Birth Parent Search

We are currently discussing the birth parent search.  This sounds like a simple question.  Do I search for the birth parents of my children or not?  This seems like a simple question with a simple answer. Of course.  Then I have access to medical information and personal information for my children.  But the real question is... do I search for the birth parents of my children?

I am finding this to be a tough question in many ways.  I would be lying if I said that I don't find this threatening to me as a mom.  The birthmom has done nothing wrong in the eyes of my children.  She has never said 'no' to unhealthy snacks.  She has never enforced bedtime.  She has never yelled in anger.  She is a saint.  While I know she has never spent 4 nights in the hospital when my son was sick or coached my daughter in fractions, these are things easily forgotten by seven year olds.  While we talk about the birthmom freely in our house, she is still a mystery and shrouded in fairy tales.  If my chilren are the Repunzel equivilent, what am I?

And then there is the birth father.  A complete absense in the history of my children.  I believe he takes up one line in the report of the birth family.  My husband has no competition.  I am both envious of my husband and saddened for my children.  There is absolutely no way for us to ever find the birth father.

So now what? 

Against ever fiber of my mommy-being, I believe that we will have to search for the birth mother.  At sometime, my chilren will deserve to know and to make the decision to meet her or not.  I can see the heartache in my future, but being a good mother means putting your children first and I believe that my children will need this connection.  I am still planning on putting this off for another year and I will not tell my children until they are older, but I will have the information waiting for them when they are ready.

When will they be ready?

Well, actually, I don't know.  My kids are already asking a lot of questions about Guatemala.  It holds an almost mythical quality to them.  They know it is their birthplace and they want to see it.  They want to go back.  They are seven now and I believe we will take them to latin america before they are ten.  I think this will be a tough, emotional trip for them and I want them to take it before they are old enough to pull back from me.  I want to be able to be there for them when they have questions. 

For our trip to Guatemala, I'm unsure at what age we will actually travel.   I am not comfortable in the country right now.  I don't believe it is terribly safe.  On the other hand (I have many hands) safe or not, we will need to make the trip.  Perhaps twelve or thirteen will be the right age. 

Some people might wonder why I am thinking so hard about something that is so far away.  I have a good reason.  I don't want to go.  I don't want to do this.  They are my children.  They are american.  I don't want to acknowledge any other family or heritage.  By planning now, I will be ready in six years.  I will be ready to face the next step growth for my children.  My goal is to always be there for them.

Asthma Attacks

Asthma Attacks

We've had so many good days that I had planned to give up my blog, but then we had some bad days, and then MIL was sick and not sick and the blog got lost.  As things even out in our life this blog will have to change and evolve but I'm going to try to keep it going.  It's been really fun to write.

Anyway, spring has sprung... sort of.  I know that I should be grateful for the lack of tornados in our area but would a ray of sunshine really hurt?  Just the other day I joked that we would be building an ark soon.  Of course, we'll have to get another dog as we only have one, but I have two kids and two hermit crabs so after I get the second dog I'll be set to float away. 

Spring for us always means allergies for both my husband and my son.  My son started on Clartin more than a month ago when pollen levels started to rise.  We monitor his peak flow (the amount of oxygen he breathes out) and just his general sniffles.  Mostly all has been good... until last week.  Hubby came home from work with a simple cold which progressed to a chest cough which immediately jumped to my son.  Crap. 

As you may know in the past a cold equaled a massive asthma attack and trip to the ER.  As my son has gotten older and bigger and as we have become more educated on asthma we have been able to catch several attacks before they happened.  So, in typical fashion we increased Flovent to twice a day and started my son on Albuterol twice a day.  Now, due to an insurance change, we have to get all of our medications mail order.  Of course I have not ordered new puffers of albuterol so I put my child on the nebulizer.
 
My son always has side effects.  Actually, I think everyone always has some side effects.  We had the racing heart beat and the all over shaky boy.  I didn't think much of it.  After 3 days of our standard medication our symptoms went crazy.  First I noticed that his heart beat was WAY too fast.  We sat together, watched tv and waited it out.  Later at dinner he was visibly shaking, fork swinging in the air.  I watched. 

The next day after the morning treatment things came to a head.  After running crazy through the house in a bad way,  (unless your the mom, you cannot distinguish bad running around from good running around) my son melted down yelling about brushing his teeth... still not outside of our range of normal.  We hit wierd when I walked into the bathroom to scold my child and he cowered in the corner and said 'mommy, please don't kill me'. 

I stopped. 

I looked at my son and whispered 'why would you say that?'.  He answered, 'not you, daddy'.  I answered, 'daddy left before you got up, just like every other morning.'  My son started to sob and say 'I don't know, I just don't know.'  At this point, I crossed the floor to him and held him. 

That day I took him off all  medications.  All of them.

My allergist was available to see us 4 days later (perhaps it is time for a new allergist), and could not come up with any real reason for this strange reaction.  According to him, the nebuilizer dispenses more medication that the normal puffer so perhaps this caused the reaction.  My allergist, who I think is very good most of the time, doesn't like to consider a child who may have additional issues like SPD.  How exactly do you figure that into the equation?  Even I'm not sure.  In addition, he can't decide if I'm a crazy mom or one who is on top of it.  You have to admit, both types of mom's look similar.

We've adjust my son's medication to Singular instead of flovent and claritin in hopes that this combination will help prevent attacks better.  Albuterol is still our back up medication based on our success in the past but I am concerned about our next attack.  Will the albuterol work in a more sustained fashion or will we be faced with another breakdown like before?

Only time will tell.

Comfort

November 1, 2010

Comfort

I've figured out that part of the reason that my son is sleeping better at night is because he can hear me typing on the computer outside of his bedroom door. I have no idea how he can hear it over all of the fans and the humidifier, but I've got money that says he can.

It's strange sometimes what brings comfort to our children. My daughter is currently struggling with her place in the world. As I mentioned before, this is a new thing for her. Every night for the last couple of weeks she has asked me to tell her about the time when she was a baby. Every night I try to come up with a new story. Multiple stories each night are more than I can handle.

She also has the first baby toy that we gave her. Actually, she has a copy of it. The foster mom did not return any of the toys we sent or take pictures with the disposable cameras for us. Our foster mom was a business woman who fostered 6 children instead of the legally allowed 2 children. She was also the facilitator. While the logical side of me can understand the business arrangement and probably the need for money, the mom in me still has some resentment.

For my son the most important thing that we have is an old baby blanket. It wasn't the first or the last blanket. It wasn't a toy or a special piece of clothing. It was this blanket. I remember picking it up in the store and handing it to my daughter. (It's a pastel blanket.) My son felt it once and grabbed it and wrapped himself up. I don't know why, but this was his blanket. We still keep it in a special drawer.

When my children are having problems, I try to remember these simple, little things that seem to help them so much... a special something that only we do together. Over the next few weeks of upset (by which I mean holidays, birthdays and timechanges) these special moments will be the glue that holds my children together. It will be what gives them the confidence to take on the world.

On my to-do list this week is to find our videos from with the kids were babies. I can only imagine the fascination these will hold now that they are so much older; to plan special cookie baking days for us and probably a movie night. Kids don't need exciting or hard to create things. They need the comfort of home and the hug that only mom and dad can provide.

The Birthmom

I planned to tell you about my Mother In Law who moved to the area today. Health-wise, it has been a very rocky year and we have tricked her into moving into an assisted living facility near us. I promise to come back to this topic very soon, but instead, we will be discussing 'the birthmom'.

In our house my childrens' birth family has been a topic since day one. During all of our homestudies and course work it was pounded into our head that it was important to acknowledge the birth family and to let our children express their thoughts and opinions. We agreed wholeheartedly... of course, it's easy to agree when they are 8 months old and hard to ignore when they have a different skin color.

When my son was 3, the birth family became a very big topic. My son started to draw pictures of me with him in my belly. He was shy and embarrassed about it. He explained to me that he knew it wasn't real but that he just wanted to pretend. My comment... 'shouldn't you draw your twin sister in there too?' He immediately drew her in and was in love with this picture. There were several more pictures of me with a big belly and two babies.

At age 4 my son wanted to know how babies were made and born. Thank you so much to friends for these answers. 'Babies are made when a mommy and a daddy do a special hug which creates a baby' and, heaven help me this was the best answer 'There is a hole that opens up on a woman's bottom between the poop spot and the pee spot. This is where the baby comes out.' Do you know how many times my son yelled 'mom's poop out babies, ew!' in some completely inappropriate place? Come to think of it, there is no appropriate place.

Minor questions about birthmoms sprinkled the 3's, 4's and 5's for my son. He also felt a need to tell everyone. 'Hi. I was born in Guatemala. My birthmom still lives there. She's brown too. Can I have a sticker?' The checkout lady was speechless. I'm not sure which I felt more, an overwhelming desire to laugh or pity for her confused look.

Throughout all of these questions and these years of inquiry from my son, my daughter has never asked anything. She has never commented. She has never seemed to care... until tonight. Tonight, while watching Planet Earth for the billionth time while we settle down for bed, my daughter started to cry. She told me that she missed her birthmom. Could we go back to Guatemala to see her? I asked what she would say when she saw her. My daughter answered 'I would just hug her. I miss her so much.' And I picked up my daughter and hugged her because it was all that I could do.

For years our therapist and adoption websites and newsgroups have tried to explain the grief that adopted children feel for everything they have lost, even if it happened before they were old enough to truly remember. I've worked with my son on so many issues that this grief is simply part of the fabric of everything else going on with him, but to be blindsided by the grief that my daughter expressed to me today made me realize how powerful of an emotion it is for my children and how difficult it must be for them. I feel sad and lost for my daughter but as her mother I know that I must be the strong one. I held her and rocked her through this first of what I suspect will be many such episodes over the years.