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.