What Rose is thankful for

Thanksgiving 2012 has begun. I say begun because tomorrow we have the second celebration with the Schultes.

Rose's quote of the weekend: "I really love the holidays. We get to see family so much more often during the holidays." Thus, it seems fitting to have two posts dedicated to family.

The pictures below are of my family's gathering Thursday. The Schulte pictures will be added soon!

Great Grandma Templin, Grandma Vicki, Great Aunt Debbie, Great Uncle Dean

A smaller group photo

A little bit o' motherin'

Sunday, Rose returned home from an overnight with her Aunt Autumn exhausted and content from all the fun they'd had. Her cold was also raging. Her throat so sore she could barely speak. She attempted to eat our dinner of salad and Velveeta cheesy dinner. (It was Sunday, and the processed boxed dinner was a nice break.)

I watched her, and I offered to make her some chicken noodle soup. Not just any chicken noodle soup, the Lipton noodle soup my mom made for me when I was sick. True comfort in a mug. She resisted the offer many times, saying she'd tough it out. Finally, she gave in and asked for the soup.

I was relieved because I couldn't bear watching her try to chew another piece of lettuce dripping in ranching dressing. I know that look. It's the look I get when each bite or movement of the jaw creates a stabbing pain down my throat.

When I delivered her mug of noodles and broth, she started first on the noodles. They're so tiny they can slip down without any chewing. I insisted she drink the broth, which she first resisted. Then she grudgingly tried a small sip. She then took a longer drink, and another. She asked for more, noting the warm broth was soothing. I poured her a second mug.

The warm, comforting aroma made me smile. As I sat across from her at the table I couldn't help but be drawn back to my childhood days. I felt warmed by the memories and by knowing I was providing comfort to my daughter in the same way my mom did me.  Rose climbed into bed shortly thereafter and awoke almost anew. Maybe it's magic soup.

How the tides have turned

Nearly two years ago, I described my shock in having our soon to be adopted daughter declaring she hated President Obama upon seeing his picture on TV.  I was even more floored when she declared her Republican loyalty.

As she started to settle into our family, the tides started to change. Suddenly her hatred shifted away from the current president to current state senators. A Republican senator, in particular. I don't really encourage or discourage hatred of politicians. I try to remain neutral in my political beliefs with Rose so she can form her own beliefs.

That said, the Obama bobble head and other conversations we've had about gay rights, etc., must have sunk in because this year Rose very proudly voted for Obama. She now is a dedicated Democrat who hates Republicans, except Lincoln. Proving how fickle children's political stances are. On the news they said most kids political preferences match their parents'.

Anyway, I'm just glad Rose is interested in the political process. I'll close this post with a picture of her after placing her vote.

Let's talk about ....

Warning, this post is a little not work friendly. Sooo, read with caution coworkers.

Here's a song to accompany your reading if you choose to continue. Images will not be included: http://youtu.be/qzfo4txaQJA

I debated posting this story for fear it crosses a line of intimacy that should be kept in place between a mom and daughter. I decided I could tell the story if I share a little something about myself and stay vague about the details.

It all started when Mike realized someone had searched for something sexual on his tablet and clicked on a few sex-based sites. He asked if it was me, and it wasn't. It also wasn't Mike. Of course that left one person, who we both knew would deny it.

As soon as she denied it, we imposed a consequence of no electronics for a few days, regardless. Then, I created a bit of homework for her. I searched for the most clinical definition of sexual intercourse. I wrote that on a sheet of paper. Beneath the definition I created a list of tasks and questions:

• First she was instructed to copy the definitions ten times.
• Then she had to define all words I thought she might not know within the definitions. She had to use her dictionary to do so.
• Lastly, she had to answer a series of questions including: which adults do you feel safe talking to about sex and what questions do you have about it?

She completed the assignment pretty quickly. I learned she didn't feel comfortable talking with anyone about sex. A huge takeaway for me. I want her to feel safe approaching someone so she's well informed. It doesn't have to be me. I didn't push it though, I just said I'm always here to talk to her.
Honestly, I felt badly for her. When I was about 12, I was curious about "it," which is what I called sex then. Thankfully the Internet didn't exist, which helped me avoid embarrassing conversations with my mom.

My research expeditions were conducted in the romance section of B. Dalton books. In those ailes, I learned to look for the books with the white crease in their paper binding. I let the marked paperbacks fall open to the most steamy of sections, usually denoted by that telling white line. That's how I answered my own adolescent questions about sex. Since I was smart enough to not bring the books home, my mom was seemingly unaware of the bodice ripping adventures that provided my first foray into "it."

Now back to Rose. A few days after the assignment, she asked me if I meant it when I said she could ask me questions about sex. I said, of course. Then she began to ask questions that made me blush. After all, I am a WASP raised in a household where sex was left on bookshelves. Thankfully, Mike walked in, and I was able to defer to the next day. I regrouped, and over breakfast answered the questions.

I even used my phone to search for a clinical diagram of the female anatomy to accompany the questions. I didn't blush. I spoke as calmly as the Biology of Women professor in college. I didn't got into extreme details in my answers. She was satisfied, and she hasn't had questions since. I felt like I won a little something.

Days later, I had the good fortune of stumbling on the female anatomy picture on my phone. I turned beet red as I closed the screen as quickly as possible (no one was around, that's just how WASPy I am). Whoops. Next time I'll need to remember to close those screens.

The world has turned and left me here

This injury makes it hard to think about someone other than everyone. Everyone out and about. Everyone going along with their days and nights. Meanwhile, I find myself exhausted and sore after three small outings purposely spread out over three days.

I often end up wallowing. I watch sappy girl movies wondering what the rest of the world is up to while I feel upset I can't even clean the house. OK, I also day dream about Harrison Ford, circa Indiana Jones, sweeping me off my feet as he rescues me from a pit of snakes.

The truth is, I currently identify with a lyric from a Weezer song, which is also the name of this post. Here's the a live recording. During my most drastic moments of wallowing, I am quite certain no one will remember me. I worry when I rejoin the world all their shared experiences will make me the odd person out.

I hate being the center of attention, but it turns out, I hate being excluded, too. So much so, I find myself desperately refreshing my email and Facebook accounts in hopes someone will be updating me about something. As if I was putting messages in a bottle and sending them out from a little island in the middle of the ocean.

How does this relate to motherhood? Today, Rose's own little inner voice drove her to a royal fit this morning. I did really well with it even as I ushered her out the door as the bus pulled up. Her hair was dripping wet, socks in hand, still throwing a fit as she climbed steps and was hauled away.

Since I didn't lose my temper I was able to reflect on the morning. She has a change on the way. Tomorrow's her last day at day treatment. Monday she starts a new program that will be very similar to the current. The problem is, she likes the current one. She is upset about leaving it. On top of that, her brother is moving more than four hours away to a more permanent home but not adoptive.

I realized today Rose probably feels as isolated as I, but she has valid reasons. In her 11 years of living she has been reminded over and over that those she love move away and leave her isolated and alone. She shoves down her sadness and disappointment, but some mornings they burst out in an eruption of hissy fit. Instead of a hissy fit, I cry. This epiphany embarrassed me a little bit, and made me the empathetic adoptive mom I have longed to be.

When she got home, I gave her a hug, and we went about the night without any consequences or guilt trips. She was still visually very down even though she denied any thing other than elation. When she said she wasn't hungry for dinner, I played it cool. I got her to eat a little later, which was fine.

OK, there was a consequence. Her lofted bed, the very one Mike had excitedly put together for her just months ago, had to be partly dismantled. If Rose is refusing to get up, she can't be easily extracted from a bed I can't even reach or climb up in, pictured below. Tonight, Rose's mattress is on the floor, but we've left the frame of the loft in place as an incentive for her to keep mornings a little less nutty.

Happy Halloween

Since my last post, surgery has lead to a slow but steady decrease in pain, putting an end to early morning blog posts. Yay!? I'm glad the pain is gone, but I kind of found a strange writing mojo in the dark hours of the morning as I tried to hide my cell phone light from Mike sleeping beside me. I have to think through that one. For now, onto Rose.

I've been mostly couch ridden but we made sure to celebrate all the traditional Halloween festivities.

First, pumpkin carving. Mike and Rose did almost all the work, but I designed mine, did some guts scooping, and even some carving. Mike finished what I couldn't.



Then the costume. Rose went was a masquerade ball princess. I was so proud of this costume. The dress cost $12 from Arcs Value Village. You might recognize it if you were married or attended a wedding in the last five years. Of course, Rose almost wanted to go as a bride after buying it. She also offered to wear it to her Uncle Phil's upcoming wedding.

After a little motherly negotiating  focused on the really cool fan and that inspired the original costume and a few more dollars of puffy paints, Rose conceded to stick with her original idea. She decorated it herself. Which is probably where I feel most pride. We spent a pretty small amount and came up with a costume she loved and made herself. She was pretty sure even the new version of the gown could be worn to her Uncle Phil's wedding. You decide if she's right.

Rose and Mike went out trick-or-treating with our friend's kids, which is the second year we've done that, too. It's nice to have things we've done twice. Even if it's only two times, the repetition proves we're making it. We're making this work.

Fool me once...

Day six of laying on the coach is coming to an end. My surgery happened Monday, and by the time I got to the hospital I was excited and hopeful the procedure would result in an immediate end to my pain. Rose, however, wasn't as excited about it, which I alluded to in the previous post.

I tried to reassure and calm her fears all day Sunday into the night. For some reason, I was surprised Monday morning didn't go well for Rose. In fact, it went horribly. Poor Mike. I was stuck upstairs bed ridden due to the pain, and she was running so late for her bus, all she could do was holler goodbye to me from the main floor. When I realized she wasn't planning on coming up to say goodbye. I was angry. I was hurt. I was overly tired from weeks of interrupted sleep.

How could someone who claimed to have been so worried about me not want to give me a hug goodbye, I wondered. I felt sad, I was worried something would happen to me during surgery and I never would have gotten to give Rose a hug. Yet the day progressed, I came out fine, and I even made it home the same day. The hurt feeling of the morning was long gone, replaced by ease as I settled into the couch.

Tuesday was another rough morning for Rose (and also Mike), and that's when it hit me. Rose's two rough mornings were tell tale signs of anxiety caused by my surgery and the changes to our family dynamic. My realization was confirmed when by Wednesday the mornings got easier as we all fell into the new rhythm. Repetition is our friend, and we have up to five more weeks to practice.

Liar

I am learning that when the tough gets going, parenthood gets filled with small exaggeration. Not lies, per say, but small betrayals of my instinct intended to keep Rose calm in heightened emotional times. Or maybe they are lies and I'm deluding myself?

Here's my distinction. Lies have the goal of deception. Even if a lie is told with the best intent, I don't ever intend to come clean. The lie is a betrayal of fact, for me it is usually intended to spare someone's feelings so being honest later would be counterintuitive. A betrayal of instinct isn't an outright lie but a small denial of the unknown, possibly sad, future.

For example, this week our poor little kitty, Princess, suddenly became very ill and had to be put down. Princess was up all night meowing in pain, she was cold, and her breathing labored. So in the morning as I got Rose ready for school I instinctually knew what the vet would tell me and hubby later. Yet, all I told Rose was she needed to go say hi to Princess since Princess was sick.

I hinted at Princess' age and the possibility of her dying. I didn't say, "Princess is dying. Go say goodbye." I feared the latter would cause too much trauma for Rose. I still wanted Rise to say goodbye and have some awareness of the situation because we couldn't hide Princesses death.

Another example of the instinct minimizer is my surgery to remove Herny. It's scheduled for Monday, and Rose is not happy about it. I asked what she was worried about, and she said she was worried I would die.

Truth be told, I've never had major surgery before and have much the same concern. I am just as scared! I just knew I couldn't say that to her, I have to make her feel secure. So I said I won't die. Then, realizing I couldn't promise that, followed up with even if I did, Dad and grandmas, aunts and uncles would all be here to care for her. Then I joked, but no moms because I wouldn't let Dad marry again. The she joked, but couldn't he marry someone you know, like a friend of yours? That totally cracked us both up.

In both cases I was dancing with a lie, I guess. Although in both cases, I didn't know what the outcome would be. Unlike lies told in dressing rooms to friends who have on a dress that's too small. I know the truth but choose not to tell it. I might just encourage they keep looking and avoid the awkward, that looks bad. It's different. Right?

I think in the face of distressing news I'm becoming good at hiding how I feel for Rose's sake in hopes everything ends happy. I wonder how that skill will translate elsewhere?

I'll take this last bit of cyber space to post a pic of out beloved Princess. We loved our 12 years with her. She was our first pet, and the cat who was able to make hubby a cat fan. We miss her greatly.

I like to keep my issues drawn

Per my usual, it's 5 a.m. and I'm awake, griped by pain. Last week I thought I'd be tough. I would reduce the amount of Advil I was taking to one dose in the morning. Then take my nerve numbing med at night.

I was resolute: I would get off all these meds and grow accustomed to the pain. Turns out my back is just as stubborn and ultimately more determined than me.

Thursday morning, after a day of successfully following my "toughen up" plan, Herny got angry around 1 a.m. And I mean angry. All I could do to console her was wander the house. Even then, I had to stay close to furniture for support when the nerve spasms washed over me.

Operation Toughen Up turned into Mission Holy Shit. At 6 am, when the hubby woke up I told him he'd need to get Rose ready, and then we'd need to go to the ER. I was so over being tough. I needed help.

When we made it to the ER, the doctor called the neuro surgeon immediately after seeing my MRI. I don't want to brag, but turns out I have a pretty big herniated disc. Little Herny is really a baby Huey!

The Neurosurgeon came in and in two seconds of talking to me said he thought the doc jumped the gun. I was talking, sitting and clearly, from his vantage point, not in too much pain.

I immediately started weeping, as I pleaded for his help. i am not here for surgery, i said, i just want more than three hours of sleep a night.

At that moment, his demeanor changed. Although he had been ready to bolt, he took pity on me and completed an exam. Then he prescribed Vicodin and a muscle relaxer.

I think he was amused I had rejected offers of Vicodin before, especially when my only reason was my desire to be tough. He looked sternly at me and said, "that won't work."

Then he shared news about how big Herny is and said I have a 50% shot of needing surgery despite the success of PT. I was instructed to stop being tough: I needed to submit to this injury. He repeated the message to mike (aka hubby) saying I seem like someone who is a tad stubborn.

So submit I have. I take three strong prescriptions nightly, which ware off at 5 am but I do seem to get solid sleep for six hours. I take Advil regularly during the day, despite the worry of ulcers. I am always on something. I left work early to get a nap in yesterday when the pain was low.

The lesson I learned is I can't just plow through this chanting I'm tough and expect a good result. Yet that internal resolve is definitely what has pulled me through the hard times with Rose. So I'm glad it's there.

The next entry will focus a lot more on dear Rose and much less on Herny. For now, my dose of Advil is kicking in, and I am going to conk out.

I'm going off the rails on this crazy train

It's five a.m. and little Herny has woken me up. Right on schedule, too. In fact, last night, husband and I joked I have a five a.m. wake-up call from pain. And pain doesn't have a snooze button. (ha! I think I need a Clint Eastwood voice over.)

The upside to this reliable pain train is I have time to write while I let whatever self soothing experiment take its course. Today it is three Advil and a heating pad on the spasm filled thigh.

As I lay in bed, pillow under my knees, feeling somewhat soothed by the warmth of the heating pad, Rosie's emergency visit springs to mind.

Specifically, my arrival to the hospital. I came straight from bowling wearing bowling shoes, a bowling shirt with "beastie bowlers" printed in graffiti font across the front and beastie boy song titles altered with bowling themes in the back. For example, "you gotta fight, for your right to bowl."

In top of that, the sweatshirt I had was bright green, and says "Get Lucky" across the front. Even worse, I had beer on my breath.

None of this dawned on me until a doctor looked at me with confusion. Then he looked at mike, and again me. After thirty seconds of deliberation, he spoke only to mike, and implied I was an aunt, perhaps. A Pca?

Mike immediately clarified my role as the mom. The doctor's eyes showed he struggled to believe it. As did other hospital staff.

I looked down at my attire and totally understood why. I was pretty sure I'd wind up on a worst mom list for coming to a hospital smelling of beer and looking like a college student. In my mind, I could see a wall of shame with my mug shot on it, giving the "rock on" gesture, of course.

I didn't let my paranoia stop me from standing up for and demanding what I felt Rose needed. When I found that voice the confusion amongst the hospital staff disappeared.

I was calm, concise, passionate, and articulate. I didn't ask for what I wanted, I politely demanded it. The staff responded well to my demeanor, and suddenly my clothes weren't an issue. I was her mom.

As I drove home exhausted the next morning, I smiled imagining the janitor. played by the Breakfast Club janitor, taking my picture off the imaginary wall of shame and handing it to me.

I'd ask he keep it there to help other new adoptive moms remember to keep speaking up, keep advocating, no matter how many strange looks they encounter.

Some get to have a baby, I get to have a herniated disc

Not to belabor my injury on a blog focused on Rose, but today I realized this herniated disc has some similarities to pregnancy.

First, I had no control over it happening. Sure a lady can choose to want to be pregnant but she really has no control over when or if it happens.

Second, I get a cool cd with pictures of my injured spine and crushed nerves. Wicked, right? I'm gonna call it Herny.

Third, well meaning people with no clue offer me pain management advice.
I try to stay patient but with the utter lack of sleep I'm getting, that's no easy task. And I recall friends of mine in late stages of pregnancy lacking sleep. Some even due to sciatic nerve pain.

Lastly, I have a funny walk, can't drink, and have to see a doctor once weekly.

Of course the difference is my weekly visits consist of a lady pulling at my legs and massaging my spine. And the most stark difference is we are hoping my appts will not require a trip to the hospital because little Herny will have gone back where she came from.

Wish it with me...

A few more September photos

Enjoy!

If you wanna kiss the sky, better learn how to kneel

Holy cow, September came and went. Just as I got ready to sit down and write about the first day of school, something came up. I'll recap the month's events in chronological order to help myself make sense of all of it: the happy, the less happy, and the indifferent.

School started, and I shake my head in amazement as I look at the three photos below. We've made it through three first days of school. This success bolsters me on days when I look forward to being in my 40s cause Rose will hopefully be out of the house. Or on the days I have to remind Rose we are all faking it until we make it.

6th Grade First Day Photo, August 2012

5th Grade First Day Photo, August 2011

4th Grade First Day Photo, January 2011

Minneapolis starts school before Memorial Day. The long weekend provided a much-needed break after a terrible first week of school. Rose ended up having to call home the first day. This ominous sign pushed me over the edge, and I took the next two days off determined to find a better school fit. Then I realized there really isn't a better place. Good charter schools with smaller class sizes have a pretty big waiting list. Private schools can't support Rose's needs, and going to another big public school compounds the same issues.

I visited a few bad charter schools where the special education staff had so many hats I couldn't imagine them managing Rose's needs.  At the same time, I learned a mom who makes multiple calls into the district results in new resources popping out of the woodwork. So rather than move Rose, we decided to enroll Rose in a half day treatment program to help her develop her social skills.

The district supported the idea, which means she would be able to go to therapy half day and return to school of the other half, allowing her to practice the skills she was learning. Plus, she'll keep the fabulous network of support at the current school.  Cause most of her school troubles are peer related.

Feeling good about our decision, we took a trip to The State Fair over the holiday weekend, and we had a great time. The butterfly house was a huge hit, and Rose got to take her first ride on a tilta whirl.

Rose feeding the butterflies with sugar I am certain was also laced with a butterfly drug.
I've never seen butterflies act so crazy.

The first week of school brought the wonderful arrival of our new nephew, Kenneth Charles Schulte, or Kenny.

The same week, we also traded in my Mustang for a Jeep, which is more family and dog friendly and is really a fun car. Rose loves it. So do I.

See what I mean? All of that happened in one week! I'm exhausted just trying to write about it. The second week of school went alright, we got calls frequently, but the staff was very patient as we tried to get appointments with treatment facilities.

At the conclusion of week 2, we visited an apple orchard to celebrate the start of fall. We went to Minnetonka Orchards, which has a small cover charge well worth it for the freshly made apple cinnamon doughnuts.

Queen of the hill!

Sheer delight is an accomplishment for a moody Tween.

The third week of school, though, resulted in Rose having to go into full time treatment in Duluth after she said she had been hiding pills in her room with the intent of killing herself.  When she made the omission I was at bowling. As soon as I got the call, I rushed to the hospital where I stayed until 5 a.m. while arrangements were made. Mike had a terrible cold so I sent him home at around midnight, and had the delight of listening to someone die just a few doors over.

In fact, the intensity of the drama traumatized me more than having Rose there. I had figured she'd probably have this happen at some point, I just didn't think it'd happen at such a young age. Since I'd seen my own sister receive help at 16 and on for her bipoloar disorder, this process wasn't new to me. We would rather she had been admitted to a program closer to the cities, but there weren't any beds open.

Rose left for Duluth Thursday morning, and Saturday we drove up to visit her for the weekend. The five hours of driving to and from seemed almost ridiculous for the 2.5 hours of visiting time we got for it, but we had to visit. As we were making the trip, I started to experience some pretty horrific pain in my left leg. I brushed it off. I didn't have time for it. Rose's treatment in Duluth was only a week, which meant she'd be coming home Wednesday. We had arrangements to make, and fast.

We called the school, and let them know we were going to have Rose enrolled in a full time day treatment program. That means she receives school half of the day and therapy the other half. The school was in complete support, and the district actually provides the schooling and a bus for us.  So between Monday and Wednesday we were busy arranging appointments with the treatment program.

At the same time, my left leg was getting worse. So bad that both Monday and Tuesday I had to pull over on my way to work at least four times. On Tuesday, by the time I made it to a Brueggars parking lot, the pain gripping my leg was so severe, I couldn't walk once I out got out of my car. Instead, I started sobbing. I'm not a public crier. Thankfully no one said anything to me. Once I was able recover, I booked an appointment with my doctor the next day.

Long story short, the doctor reported I'd lost a significant amount of muscle strength in a very short amount of time. I was prescribed physical therapy and an MRI. The MRI revealed two herniated discs, likely from the car accident, one is crushing the nerve running down my left leg. So right when Rose got home from the hospital, I was pretty sad thinking of how I wouldn't be able to run possibly forever. I was even more angry that I'd stayed fit so I'd be a great mom who can keep up with my kid, and now I'm suddenly not.

And that brings us to the last week. Rose has been in her program for one whole week, and she likes it. The attention she gets from the staff is beyond our expectation. Her behaviors at home are even getting less tense as a result.

I'm getting over the shock of feeling so disabled all of a sudden, and the physical therapy seems to be helping, which means I might not need surgery. In the meantime, my coworkers have been very understanding when I need to stand up and walk around meeting rooms.

Lord only knows what October will bring, but after the past month. I just I hope it's fairly uneventful so we can focus on Halloween fun. If you read this, pray for a month of calm for us.

Buying happiness

I never thought i would buy my kid the overly expensive, name brand things.

My mom didn't. She couldn't afford to. And although we can technically afford to, philosophically I am not on board with designer kids stuff for many reasons. Mostly, you don't need a bunch of name brand, expensive things to be liked. I used to judge parents in malls buying their kids such things.

That was until I got a kid, and I wanted that kid to be liked, and all my attempts at buying less expensive "cool" shoes have back fired. Proving that a 34-year-old has no real sense of what is cool to 11-year-olds.

So behold Rose in shoes more expensive than any I owned until I was 27. Will they automatically make her popular? Nope. Did they make her so happy that she's been up since seven today wearing them around the house? Yep.

So that is probably worth the cost, my loss of personal conviction, and the people who were walking by the shoe store judging me.

Organized Chaos?

I have had a pretty big struggle the past few weeks. Note I didn't say Rose had a struggle. I said me.

My struggles have been in realizing how much Rose has been lying and defying us. That alone doesn't bug me. Kids will push boundaries. I want her to. It's her response to being caught that kills me. Kills me.

She will admit to whatever it is sometimes but then argue about why she was  right to break whatever rule has been offended. It feels like there's no getting through to her. More over, my worry amps up thinking about the dangers she'll encounter as she gets older.

I want her to be able admit to those mistakes to us. I want her to know that if she ends up in trouble as a teen, we can help. And  I want to be able to help without me shaking in anger after listening to Rose explain why she decided staying out until 2 a.m. was ok. Or whatever.

Last night, I was awake almost all night mulling this over. I was also mulling over my smashed-up Mustang, our kitchen currently being repaired and painted, and surprisingly those worries pushed all thoughts of work out of my mind. Woot.

Here's my poor first ever brand new, my dream car after rear ending a Dodge Durango.

Around four a.m. this morning I reset my alarm as I decided to skip boot camp at 5 a.m. I did just finish a half marathon Saturday and felt a little entitled. My muscles are still a bit sore, and after no more than 2 hours of solid sleep enduring another hour of vigorous exercise hardly seemed wise.

This morning, Rose was defiant, bordering on emotional abusive, as always lately. I weathered the storm pretty well. Then I dropped her off, I noticed the brake light in my sister's truck was blinking. It's a 26-year-old truck she can't use right dow due to herniated discs in her neck. So I have no confidence the light is just an old truck bein quirky or if it's real. I'm lucky she can lend it to me while my car is repaired. But I'm not willing to risk my life getting to work in it.

Rather than hitting the free way, I decided to come home because my sis wasn't answering her phone and couldn't confirm that my commute to the office wouldn't end in a fiery crash. I had to take care of insurance paperwork anyway, and I took a personal day. After dealing with my insurance stuff, I began to think about Rose again.

That's when I realized half of the lies she was trying to cover up revolved around the total and utter mess her room was in. It's easy to hide things in a room that's a pig sty. I decided to spend about two hours of my personal day deep cleaning her room. I figured the act might make her happy because she might be overwhelmed by the chaos. Or, she might be angry about how much stuff I purged. I was willing to take the risk

When she walked in and saw the work I'd done she was thrilled. Yay. She's hugged me, twice. As I figured, most of the stuff I threw she didn't even remember shoving into drawers. I left a pile of stuff on her table for her to organize. I explained how I'd emptied and sorted her bins--assigning clear tasks for each.

I wonder if maybe part of Rose's sass the past week was resulting from the utter chaos her room was in. I know I feel off kilter when my car, office, or bedroom is messy but I am a little "type a" that way. Then I realize maybe part of my heightened frustration toward Rose's behaviors lately revolve around the chaos in my own life (the kitchen in disrepair, the intense training, the broken car). Who knows.

Here are some after pics of Rose's room. Yes, it's still pink.

(Wish I had realized the chaos of my life and her room would lend themselves to a blog post so I'd thought to take a pre pic.)

Another Family First

Neighborhood Show

It was mom who melted down today. This morning Rose wasn't happy. Who is? It's Monday, right?

I managed to deal with her grumpyness. Then she really started to up the sass. When she does that, she flips into a dialect that, as she confirmed, "is just how sassy black women talk." It's not the dialect as much as the total disrespect that comes along with it. Yet, I weathered that, too, until we were running late, which is a big deal because it means she misses the bus to summer school.

So I urged her to hurry up and was met with a, "you ain't the boss of me, who you think you are?" So I yanked the shoes out of her hand opened the door and threw them down to the street. All the while she was still going on about her birth mom. How I'm not her mom. More red.

I took her back pack and hurled that down the front steps. She kept going to so the peanut butter and jelly crumpets I had made for her I crushed in my hand and flung it into the blushes saying, "go ahead and steal the free breakfast from the poor kids." (Mom isn't politically correct when she's mad.)

She was still sassing, and I was like the hulk: totally unable snap out of my anger. In a last bit of flourish I threw my bagel with cream cheese, and it landed on my windshield, leaving a creamy white streak. Rose wasn't phased in the least. Calmly looking me she said, "I'm not taking my back pack." It lay on the steps, a bit of peanut butter smeared on it.

So I pushed her (not hard) to her back pack, made her pick it up and pushed her (again, not hard) to the car. She got in, and she continued to taunt me. She thought she had the upper hand, but I reminded her that family time was out of the question the longer she didn't behave respectfully. "I don't care." That is code she does.

The drop off at school wasn't a terrible success either, but the extreme drama wasn't there. She pushed it, but I didn't care. She hadn't missed her bus, so I was able to get to work after sobbing my way to my car, and all the way down the free way. I'm not proud of any of this. Pretty embarrassed, actually--especially about the pushing. So I figure I'll include this here to keep myself honest; to remind myself I have a lot of work to do.

Things get more real

I've been fairly silent lately. Mostly silenced by happiness. Rose's white noise from the last year has all but disappeared. The tension in the house is all but gone. Thinking of her as a three year old, not eleven, increased my patience.  She's learning how to be a kid in some instances. She's letting us be parents, some times.

On the flip side, we're able to start seeing the real beauty and sad truthful longer term damage. These are my takeaways:

First, the beauty.
1) She is truly empathetic.
2) She is very, very stubborn. (A coworker today aptly said she had a daughter who she knew would make a cool adult, if she didn't kill her daughter before she reached adulthood.)
3) She is really passionate. She hasn't found her passion, yet. When she does, watch out.
4) She wants to be loved.

Then the sad.
1) No matter what we do, we can't convince her we know how to keep her safe. This results in lots of defiance--some acts more risky than others. 
2) Realizing how much she doesn't trust in anyone's ability besides her own makes me especially all too aware of the hard road she'll head down.
3) She makes friends with abusive children. She is hurt by them. She goes back to them and gets hurt again. She takes comfort in pain, heightening my fear of a more dangerous path this could lead as she grows up.

Then the pathetic.
As a grown up, a perfectionist first born, people pleasing grown up, I'm realizing I can't control this. I realize no matter what we do, we can create positive change, but we can't deter Rose. In essence, "success" as a parent isn't truly definable. In training, one haggard, tired adoptive mom said she learned parenting meant attending the court cases for her son and writing him in court. I bristled, thinking I'd never have that fate. I'm too smart for that.

While I hope i don't my know-it-all big sister sensibilities prove right. I hope my optimism that I can flip any situation around, the reality we've seen lately makes me feel a lot more glass half full. This makes it really hard to bond. I have to somehow create a way to not take Rose's stumbles personally so I can overcome this hinderance. I'm just not sure how.

Progress?!?

Friday, Rose grew 6 years and then back 3.

Before I continue, I must go backward, again. When Rose moved in she pretty much flat out refused to get dressed, pick out her own clothes, do her own hair, change her underwear or put on pajamas. We had to cajole, bribe and yell to gain compliance. It, was, horrific.

Thanks to multiple reward systems, Rose started dressing herself. Then she started picking out her own clothes. When the stickers and points started piling up she put herself into jammies no matter how angry she was. She showered no matter how tired. (Behold the power of stickers.)

The only ritual remaining was us helping with her hair. Each morning she'd wake up and if she dressed by 7:10 a.m. we would wet her hair, apply product and comb it. We'd chat while all this happened. It provided a fun bonding and nurturing moment, one I figured Rose needed. Plus, she loved the time, and it motivated much more successful mornings.

Last Friday, Rose was getting ready for a family trip to Brueggar's before school. I went into the bathroom asking if she needed help, and she excitedly said, "Mom! I figured out how to do my hair myself, with product, and it's FASTER!" "oh, yea," I said, the doubt creeping into my mommy vocal cords faster then I could stomp it away.

"Yea" she said and she explained the truly rock solid method she'd figured out. So I nodded in shocked, deer in head light shock, approval before she ushered me out of the bathroom. I walked the three or four feet into our TV room where I got a little weepy as I re-told the story to Mike.

He tried to make me feel better by saying we knew Rose would want help tomorrow. I tried to let his words console me but couldn't help feeling a little in awe at how far she'd come. I also realized how I really liked some of her more developmentally delayed behavior. I sighed, pushed away the desire to have a baby and smiled.

Of course two hours later when I had to tell her to take the strange piece of metal out of her mouth. I pretended to be annoyed by scolding her, but really, it made me smile a little inside. Seriously, that girl's obsession with putting odd things into her mouth would fascinate Freud.

Garden day, take two

Last year I attempted to let Rose plant her own garden, and it didn't go well. This year, she listened, she loved it, and has her own bit of earth.

She even wanted to help me plant the other half of the boulevard despite the
mist.

The power of youth

After almost fifteen years together I haven't been able to influence Mike's dress. Rose has been here a little over a year and convinced Mike to buy this green shirt by simply saying, "you've gotta push your fashion, dad" best part is how proud he looks.

Mothers Day 2012

I'm still trying to process Mothers Day. It doesn't feel natural to me, yet. I don't feel like a mom. I tried to figure out why not. I do all the things moms do. Even though I didn't carry, deliver or nurse Rose I invest just as much emotion and energy into her being.

I will need time to process this, but I think the reason I don't feel like a mom is because Rose can't share with me like I used to with my mom. Rose has good reasons of course. She was burned by adults and has no reason to trust anyone. At the same time, until she can confide in me, I don't feel like her mom. I feel like the kind woman who's giving her a place to stay. She's still my daughter, but not in the way I'd expected to have a daughter.

As a result, Mothers Day isn't really a sweet day, a more so bitter sweet day. I love honoring my my mom, grandma and aunt. I hate the full day reminder of the loss of mother/daughter role I'd wanted for years.Rose is a very important part of my life, my only daughter, but I hope some day we share a more strong bond.

Here's a picture of all the strong, beautiful women who made me, me.

First parenting win

Last week, Easter candy was suddenly going missing overnight. Wrappers and sticky globs of chewed bubble gum were winding up in trash cans unexpectedly. Chocolate bunnies were abducted without a trace of their whereabouts. Clearly, kiddo'd decided she needed to dig into the stash of candy.

Rose denied her involvement as convincingly as a mobster protecting their boss.  My eyebrow raised, and I said, "Well, Dad and I didn't do it. The dogs didn't do it. You didn't do it. So we must have a ghost who likes candy. Since I'm scared of ghosts, we're not going to have candy or treats in the house any more."

Two nights passed where Rosed asked for candy or treast after dinner. I repeated the silly ghost reasoning. The third morning, Rose emerged from her room holding some of the vacationing candy. I don't have the bunnies, though, I brought those to school, she said.

I was on cloud nine the whole day. The crazy scheme I'd concocted on the fly actually worked. She came clean about what she'd done. She later admitted to also taking a box of crackers to school as well. She got mad when we informed her there'd still be a consequence. That turned itself into a learning opportunity. Just because you tell the truth about misgivings doesn't mean you don't have consequences. It usually means the consequences aren't as severe.

So we have one blue ribbon on the parenting mantlepiece. Plus, this post is a nice segway into posting a few pics from Easter 2012.

Even better than the real thing

The past month has been surreal. Sure, we've had ups and downs. This time, though, none of the downs affected us for more than 24 hrs,

Friday morning, for example, mike had to carry Rose to the car to get to school. We wouldn't let her wear shorts so she refused to cooperate.

(She ended up wearing shorts anyway, which is perhaps a lesson learned for us first time patents. Choose your battles wisely.)

We issued consequences. She came home Friday afternoon happy and determined to please us. She wrote two letters of apology and cleaned her room. The rest of her weekend was spent researching and writing a report on The Civil War.

Sounds lame. Yet tonight, we slurped spaghetti noodles as chocolate chip cookies filled the house with a calming aroma. We watched the newest Muppet movie. I read "The Secret Garden" to Rose until bedtime.

It was everything I dreamed it could be. It wasn't flashy. It just was. And it was wonderful.

April Showers Bring April Birthdays

I was a very caring big sister. When my sister turned one, I decided I would "help" her open her birthday presents...out of my pure care of her well being. She was too little, I remember reasoning. Since I'm four, I'd better show her how it's done. I showed her how to open presents and how to play with her toys for two years before she decided she was ready to be an independent woman who opened her own presents. By then, I was nearly six and agreed.

As you can see, we were both happy with this arrangement.

Of course in hindsight, I'll admit I wasn't altruistic. I was an older sister who was spoiled and wasn't very thrilled that my baby sister had a whole day dedicated to her. Plus, I was convinced she did both the opening and playing WRONG! Better I do it myself.  When I realized she would let me open her presents because she was too little to care, I took advantage. This bossy, I know better, mentality is a family trait I believe I inherited from my Grandma. Yet I digress, wo why this trip down memory lane?

Well, because April is filled with birthdays, namely Mike's and mine. Rose really struggles with these days. She will fall into oddly argumentative behavior that tests my patience as I try to remind her it's DAD's birthday or MY birthday. From what I can tell, she suffers because the days focus on someone else. She is no different from me ages four to six as I came to terms emotionally with losing the only kid position.

Of course, all of this is conjecture because she won't share her thoughts or reason for emotions. Yet yesterday, on my birthday, the evening was filled with silly arguments and her generally becoming so disrespectful she wound up with quiet time in her room. At one point when I told her she needed to have time out, she said, "Mom on your birthday you're supposed to be nice to people." As my lower back continued to spasm I told her on someone's birthday you're supposed to be nice to them.

To top it off, for the last two days I've been bed ridden with a sore lower back. It was literally spasming. I can barely make it up and down stairs, and Mike has been taking care of everything. Rose is early in her attachment, but I believe some of her behaviors yesterday stemmed from her concern about my not being able to take care of her. She's mentioned having nightmares about Mike or I dying. So I tried, and will admit didn't do well keeping my patience while she spent 30 minutes getting to her room.

Sometimes, when we're in funks, alone time is the best thing. That continues to be true of Rose. After a little over an hour in her room, her attitude had turned around. Mike made her dinner, and I offered to read her another chapter from The Secret Garden to show her I am still here for her. The night ended well, relatively speaking. We got another interesting peek into Rose's psyche and I had an pretty fine birthday, all things considered.

Our second Easter awaits

More to follow...

A different sort of lucky

On St. Patrick's Day, Mike and Rose came to support me at my first half marathon in over a year. Last year in October I was pretty sure I'd never have time to get to half marathon fit again. So I was was pleased and lucky to be in that shape just six months later.

Rose wasn't too pleased about getting up at 6:30 a.m. to support her mom, but a little hot chocolate bribe wiped away her morning grumpies.

The whole family came out except our kitty, Princess. Mike, Eddie, Moxie and Rose planned to meet me at mile 5. It was a turn back course, so they planned to stay put at mile 5 and see me again at mile 8. Mile 5 came, and they weren't there. I worried a bit. My running buddy pointed out they probably couldn't get parking fast enough. That made sense.

Mile 8 came, and they weren't there. My running buddy was feeling under the weather so we parted way, and I couldn't stop worrying. From about mile 8 to miles 13 I couldn't erase the image of Rose acting up, Mike losing his mind and throwing her off the river bluffs, and I getting back to the finish line to see my husband being put into a squad car.

I thought I would never forgive myself for encouraging the adoption that pushed Mike that far. I would end up in a mental facility for life, I reasoned. What's even crazier is these were all serious thoughts.The images were vivid. Rationally, I know Mike wouldn't hurt Rose. Perhaps my brain was hitting a wall after the long run in the unusually warm March weather.

Cause there they were, waiting at the finish line. They were anchored down by an arthritic Eddie but excited to see me.  It made me feel lucky. Yet, not in the "It's a Wonderful Life" realization kind of way. The entire incident made me aware of how anxiety ridden I am still. That even though I'm back to pre-Rose running distances, even though I have a loving family willing to wait 2.5 hours for me on a beautiful Saturday, life is very different.

Oh, and here's Rose after the St. Patrick's Day parade. All swagged out.

Sometimes the easy way out is the right way out

We became the family who took a Disney trip away from Rose. I felt awful about it. It wasn't an easy decision. It was made over the course of two months, after much debating and talking with Mike and the family therapist. The night we made the decision, I went to bed thinking I had made a decision that was the easy way out.

Rose just couldn't listen to the most simple of instructions. I dreaded myself turning into the Incredible Hulk Mom like I did South Dakota. I could just imagine the youtube videos of me cursing up a storm at no one in particular. Mike agreed with the decisions but for his own reasons. If he decides to make a post, he can explain his reasoning.

Family therapist thought Rose's behavior might be caused from the sheer anxiety of the trip. She predicted cancelling the trip would either make our lives hell or better. Thankfully, it was the latter. In three days, Rose was listening at home. She was showering. Sure enough, deciding to cancel the trip took away her anxiety. So while cancelling the trip was easy for me because it reduced my anxiety, it was the right thing overall because it reduced Rose's.

My aunt, who was helping pay for the trip, suggested next year we surprise Rose with the trip to avoid the fate. Thankfully the trip was insured. Thankfully, we have respite care lined up that week so we can get a little break ourselves cause this week was dotted with a suspension. Apparently good behavior at home doesn't carry to school. But more about that in another post.

Grounding

So Rose has reverted way back, which we hope will end soon. Until then Rose is in consequenceville again. To lighten the mood, I'm posting a link to a funny article that helps ground me (thanks Uncle Colin).

Rose, if you're reading this as a teen, here are some steps to get me to stop my writing:
http://www.wikihow.com/Get-Your-Mom-to-Stop-Blogging-About-Your-Life

Motivation

Rose earned all of four stickers this month. Four. It's been rough.

Last night, she started to have a rough night and as a result didn't finish her homework on time. So this morning I woke her up an hour sooner. I gave her a kiss and rubbed her back, let her know hot cocoa and a brownie were waiting for her at the table while she finished her homework.

Not surprisingly, she was up in 5 minutes and working on her homework. She bragged to Mike that she had a brownie the second he came downstairs. On top of that, she was fully dressed and out the door 13 minutes sooner, which is time she can apply to a later bedtime this weekend.

When I picked her up she asked if I have her the cocoa and brownie to motivate her to get her homework done. Very smart, kiddo.

Putting things in order

Today we spent the majority of the day what I first called cleaning. Then I realized I wasn't just cleaning. The housework I was doing symbolized a transition from chaos to calm. What a reassuring revelation during this rocky weekend.

Our bedroom was my primary target. It had been filled throughout the year with items we had to take away from Rose as consequences. Or items we had to keep away for fear she'd hurt herself with them during her fits of temper and extreme attention getting ploys. (In contrast, even though her defiance and sasssiness this week has been hard, it hasn't elevated to us hiding our sharps or electrical cords. So yay for that.)

Anyway, in the past year our room had begun to feel like a make shift pharmacy slash nursery. I found myself either stepping over hydrogen peroxide or finding Orbees in my pajama drawer. And until last year, I didn't even know what Orbees were. It seemed like the room had become the epitome of the uncertainty and chaos filling my brain. I couldn't empty my brain so I couldn't clear the clutter. Nothing was making sense. Until today.

Today, thanks to the fabulous progress Rose has made, the bathroom stuff went back where it belonged. My clothing drawers contain only clothes. Oh, and the pile of pictures, Rose's art, and Rose's report cards, her lost tooth, and partially started scrap book I swore I would keep up are now tidily placed  in a storage bin.  I'll get to that, eventually. I won't let its sprawling chaos guilt me in the meantime.

Best of all, Rose has a place in my life that makes sense. Motherhood isn't an awkward stumble or trip over misplaced obstacles any more. It isn't perfect, either, as my closet can attest, but it's as orderly as I would hope and becoming better than I envisioned.

I'd like to see you make me

There are a few more tactics Rose has attempted to employ to get out of trouble.

Our therapist wisely suggested we try the consequence of ignoring her her behavior. That consequence typically works. Although lately she's tried a new tactic, "Mom, wouldn't you really be punishing yourself? You know you want to spend time with me. Why would you give yourself that consequence?"

It almost made me laugh. I felt impressed by her technique. I tried to keep my awe hidden. I told her I do want to spend time with her, I love to spend time with her but her decision is hers alone. She understand the consequence. She tried the same tactic on the PCA last  night. To no avail.

To be honest, I would prefer that quasi-manipulative response over the new oh so 11-year-old response of, "I'd like to see you make me."  For some reason those seven point five words incite a fire in my brain like no other. I'm sure I said them to my mom, but gosh, I don't remember doing so.

Consequenceville

Welcome to Consequenceville, populate 3 humans, 2 fuzzy collies and 1 kitten.

Tonight our PCA, the new one, picked Rose up at school. Rose was caught up in a computer game and made the PCA wait for her. I use the word wait loosely. The PCA did what we would expect. She issued consequences, she kept her cool. She kept her cool for 45 minutes.

I would have been livid. I would have carried Rose out of that computer lab to make the biggest scene possible. It was good I wasn't there.  In the end, the after school teacher unplugged Rose's mouse. Rose yelled out, and the teacher said no kids could use the computer. All of the kids of course yelled at Rose. Natural consequence, indeed.

Now, the other part of the consequence is a 45 minute early bed time and loss of time with the family for other rude things she said to the PCA. It really is a consequence for us both. We don't get any time with Rose, either.

Rose's First Fondue

From the chronicles of the child who hated photos. A series of photos from her first chocolate fondue. I requested the photos, but Rose made them her own. YAYYYY for progress. Huge progress.

Rose dipping her first Rice Crispy bar

Rose smeared the chocolate on her face for effect. I do love the drama queen side of her.

She did enjoy the fun of dipping sugary treats in melty chocolate.

The baker and fondue maker.

I had tried to subtly put the camera away, but Mike insisted on this photo.

Gotcha Day!

A few gotcha day photos. And a few random takeaways:

1) Try, try, and try again. Especially when it comes to food. Especially when the alternative is eating only spaghetti every night. In the first few months that's the only thing Rose wouldn't protest. The nightly fights over food were so tiring they nearly made a pasta sentence worthwhile. Yet, we kept introducing and reintroducing  foods and now she might grimace a few times, but she generally likes everything--even foods she swore she hated.

2) There's a fine line between consequence and punishment, and it's easily crossed. Sometimes what starts as a perfect consequence doesn't keep on course. In this case, the child acts out, mom calmly spells out consequence if behavior repeats, child has time to think about consequence before repeating or stopping the behavior.

Then the child chooses to repeat the behavior, anyway. Mom loses her cool a little because of the poor decision on the child's behalf and because the consequence obviously wasn't a good one. Before mom knows it 15 "consequences" are issued in 5 minutes. Dad calls this layering.  When fired in rapid succession, consequences don't give time to let the kiddo think through or learn anything.  Then they're punishments. Mom will work on this.

3) I think I mentioned this before, but parents seem to love educating me about which of Rose's behaviors are "normal" ones I can expect to continue or even get worse. They sometimes seem to delight in torturing me with this knowledge. A few weeks ago though, I couldn't help but laugh as someone else's kid had a melt down over pony tail holders in the Lifetime locker room. Which leads me to my last revelation: other people's kids aren't perfect, either! Which is probably all the other parents are trying to say.

And our 1st Gotha Anniversary pics:

The preteen paradox

This our life lately, the oddness of worrying about boys one day the toothfairy the next. Not kidding. This is Rose's razor and body wash.