If she was my birth kid...

Today I'm having a day wondering if I'd be acting differently if a birth child told me she stole make-up.

I was calm, but I'm upset, desperately upset. We marched her back to Walgreens, had the manager give her a stern talking to. I was calm, but as we ate dinner a few hours later, I got a little emotional when she said she hadn't really learned anything from the experience. In fact, I left the table because I could say nothing constructive at that point.

All I could feel was anger that my daughter is a thief...and this isn't the first time she's stolen, just the first time from a store. I could hardly look at her. I tried to smile and reassure her that I'm affectionate for her. I needed a break. I feel the bonding/attachment eroding a little. I need to pound it back into place.

So we have a few follow-up consequences:
1) Rose is grounded until she has written a letter of apology to Mike and I for our wasted time today and for
2) She will not be permitted in any stores with anyone for some time
3) Her current make-up, the make-up she just earned the privilege to have is taken away. It will be gone completely until the stolen make-up reappears. (She swears she doesn't know where the hot cosmetics went, but I strongly suspect it's in her room.)

But back to my reaction, it's hard at times like these to not be very angry and in those instances. I become cold, and hard. Today I prided myself for walking away from the table rather than becoming this guilt tripping mom machine who feels icy.

The New, New Reality

Today, a few friends posted pictures of suspects of the Boston Marathon bombing on Facebook to help the FBI catch the a-holes who bombed the event.

I wish I did know who they were. I wish I could report them. Yet, today, what scares me isn't how social media can be employed to capture terrorists. I'm scared that a random bombing occurred at all.  When 9-11 happened, I hesitated for months to go back to the Mall of America. I actually rarely go there even now. Subconsciously I'd rather not.

Monday's events were not nearly as dramatic as the 9-11 events, but they were more terrifying. To me, they signified a new kind of terror. Terror focused on small gains to send a message. Easily repeatable terror. Terror captured in the beads of sweat making trails down my back as I board a subway in New York.

Let's face it, if this bombing could happen at the finish line of the Boston Marathon, which was fairly heavily guarded, it could happen any where. The next bus stop in New Mexico or Alabama. It's coming.

These terrorists weren't looking for massive casualties. They wanted to send a message more profound. They can shake us at our most basic core. They can make the most sacred, basic, boring events scary.
I look at Rose and shudder that she hesitate to walk down a busy street for fear some random terrorist has put an explosive back-pack somewhere near by. Or maybe that's just my fear, not hers. Cause I look at my fellow Americans who haven't let this phase them and think I might be over reacting.

What do you think?? Do we let Monday's events change our course of action or do we pretend it's just two random guys hoping to make a statement?

Rose's adaptiveness

One of my favorite things Rose has been doing lately is in the morning. 

You see, I'm not a complete morning person. I can fake my way through it, but I like having some downtime. A child makes downtime in the morning almost impossible. Some days I know I'm a little surly as a result.

Occasionally, Rose used to ask why I was grumpy in a condescending tone. I didn't appreciate her tone at 7 a.m. on  Sunday, which resulted in an even grumpier mom, so she devised a new tactic.

"Mom?," she'll inquire politely and tentatively, "Did you sleep well?"

That's my cue. I smile and try to adjust my attitude because I'm obviously being a little grumpy.

Mom/Daughter Superbowl party

Mike took a well-deserved break to watch the Superbowl with a friend. Smart move on his part since Rose and I had three non football goals: eat, watch the commercials, catch half time. (I like to defy gender stereotypes, but in this case I'm happy to fulfill them.)

The eating was good. I let Rose choose her appetizers, which are pictured below minus the wine, which was of course mine.

She loved it.

Care taking

Bless me dear god of mothers. I have sinned.

Despite my firm promise to take care of my mother self, I have let the following basics slip. Mostly due to the overwhelming feeling I didn't have time to care for myself and others.

It's been 2-plus years since I last visited a dentist. I am terrified to return.

I have not been to an eye doctor nor mustered the energy to wear contacts in over 3 years.

Since my back surgery I have gained 10 pounds. Mostly because I adopted the awful habit of drinking or eating or both when I would have exercised otherwise. My pants are angry, dear lord.

I will repent. I have come to my senses and will not continue these wicked ways. I promise, lest I become the worn down, cavity ridden, overweight, heart problem prone mom I so longed to avoid being. I cringe at how judgemental that reads, but in reality it's based out of a fear of buring myself out like so many others before me.

In the meantime, I ask you to be lenient in your punishment because at least I have shaved legs!

Establishing the natural order of things

Last week in family therapy Rose was explaining her bus troubles. She made me so proud when she admitted she causes problems 50% of the time. Accountability is a skill we've been working on for a long time. She immediately commented the other kids are just annoying.

I praised how she has done a really good job ignoring me and Dad when we annoy her, and maybe she could use those same skills when kids at school bother her. She looked right at me and said, "yea, but you guys are strict and scary."

I don't know if pride is the right word, but I basked in those words for seven days. It means all the schedules, consequences and discipline has paid off. Through complete trial by fire we've instilled a fear in Rose I had for my mom. A fear Mike had for his parents. An irrational fear. We've granted ourselves the natural, parent-given right to be the alphas in the house.

Of course, on the eighth day Rose defiantly took make-up to school she promised she wouldn't. (See the prior post for more details on the glittery clown incident.) Yet this time, I viewed the event with a slightly adjusted lens. This time, she wasn't pushing us away. She was just being her usual stubborn, I know better self.

And I realize now as I type there are a lot of rules I create to protect myself more so then my kid. It's those rules she is most likely to break, which is also the natural order of things.

Welcome to motherhood

I once took a bit of pride in how I looked. I planned outfits, refreshed my wardrobe often, and i wore make up.

Some days I'll rekindle those pre motherhood days. I'll put on a sassy skirt (that fits), put on both eye shadow and eye liner.

Then days like today happen. Days when Rose is running late for the bus and is covered in glitter. On mornings like today I stare almost silently at her glittery face thinking she looks like a deranged snowman stripper Christmas ornament. Meanwhile her undone hair and unbrushed teeth scream out, "you're a bad mom."

All I can keep thinking at that early hour of the morning is I hope the bus comes. I hope it comes soooooon, but it doesn't. So we fly out the door to get Ms. Glittery Clown to school, and in that haste i forget I didn't change my under shirt.

I forget until I pull into the company ramp feeling oddly naked for not wearing jewelry. Then I realize I'm still rockin my original under shirt to my conservative firm. Whoops.

Under the looking glass

Before I create a few photo album themed posts for Christmas and Rose's birthday, I wanted to take a step back.

This post is about doubt.Self parenting doubt. I imagine all parents doubt whether they're doing the right thing. A few friends have shared stories of the grand parents being overly judgy causing more self doubt. Or maybe not, maybe that's a story I made up to feel better about myself.

Anyway, adoptive parents face an additional stress. Or at least we do. I call this new element of parental guilt/doubt: therapists. Creative, I know.

A few months ago, pre back surgery, I took a lunch to attend a family meeting at Fairview where Rose was then having day treatment. Taking lunch is a bit of a luxury because I'm an admitted workaholic. So leaving my piling amounts of work for extended periods of time is no easy task emotionally or practically.

On top of that, I was barely keeping my back pain at bay. I was not sleeping. I wasn't myself.  So the letter I to the patient relations coordinator after we left tells what transpired. It's below. It should be read knowing I was overly tired, pain ridden, and stressed the day it all occurred.

The event continues to haunt me: even tonight as our therapist told us we needed let Rose pick her ears and flick the ear wax at the table. Kids are dirty and gross she said. We need to let her be gross. I hesitated to say anything the therapist to the contrary for fear she'd start hollering at me like the therapist in the story below. I worried my objection to her comment would cause her to question my parental love. I think bodily fluids are best kept for the bathroom. Does that make me a bad parent?

That logic is freaking insane. It makes me sound paranoid. I have enough of a hard time keeping my own internal nagging at bay. In addition, I think there is a certain amount of parenthood that revolves around nit picking. My mom was driven mad by my obsession with examining each hair on my head for spit ends. My dad was the first one to teach me about eating with my mouth shut. These are important nagging events in my life. I'm glad food doesn't fall out of my mouth while I go blind examining the ends of hairs and pulling the split ones out non stop.

Long story short, I am pretty ready to be out of the prying eyes of medical professionals. I have enough doubt about my mothering ability as it is.

And here it is, the letter I wrote in October- Some Names Changed for Privacy
Hello, My daughter is being seen at the Fairview Adolescent out patient program currently. She is doing very well in the program, and our experience in that regard has been very positive. Knowing that, I hesitate to complain, but the experience we had with a therapist on staff was inappropriate and would make me consider not recommending your fabulous program to other adoptive parents.

My husband and I arrived at the discharge appointment with two representatives from the school district ready to figure out what we were doing next. The main reason Rose was admitted was her inability to socialize with peers, which caused her to fall into a deep depression. When we walked into the appointment, the therapist, ARROGANT MD, looked at my husband and I and expressed concern over Rose saying she was having a hard time with a consequence we have in the house. Specifically, if she's being disrespectful, defiant, rude, she will lose family time. Rose had told the staff this happens a lot and really bothers her.

AMD's tone was not asking for more information about how our family issues this consequence or to verify if what Rose was sharing was accurate. Instead, her tone very much felt as if she was attacking us. My husband and both of the people from the school district felt the same way. When we tried to explain the loss of family time consequence--why it works for us, how it's used, etc., she got more aggressive asking if we were attached to our daughter at all. She then said she felt our reaction to Rose's behaviors was an over reaction and asked if either Mike or I had been abused as children. Both questions were completely inappropriate for the setting and purpose of the meeting.

Admittedly, both myself and my husband were acting out of emotion at this stage. [Translation: Amy yelled]  I would imagine AMD was as well. Yet, I expect more out of a trained psychologist. When I realized I'd let my emotions get the better of me, I apologized, and I tried to turn the meeting around, but AMD appeared to shut down and was unwilling to provide suggestions for parenting or school. When she did apologize, she qualified her apology with "but i'm very protective of our kids."

Of course Rose isn't her kid, Rose is OUR child. Qualifying an apology negates the purpose of an apology. Her inability to successfully facilitate the meeting from that point on demonstrated even less professionalism than I would expect from such a renown facility and creates a lot of concern for me. Long story short, I am still shocked by this "professional's" behavior. If she was concerned about how we parent our daughter, the feedback would have been better received without the school district present. I would have also appreciated her beginning the conversation with an inquiry about how this consequence is enacted versus accusing us of "not knowing anything about reactive attachment disorder."

I would have also expected her to be able to recover and lead the meeting and not end it with another apology qualified by "but I've seen too many of these adoptions fail." If AMD is the person trying to support the adoptive families, I have no doubt the relationships fail. As a result of this encounter, I am very torn when other adoptive parents ask me if they should send their children there. Rose has made huge strides as a result of the intense therapy, so that's a huge win. Yet, having your staff put adoptive parents on the defensive is a huge minus. AMD's behavior should be evaluated and addressed. Secondly, your staff should be trained on how to work with adoptive parents. Parents who work 24/7 to raise these children. Parents who aren't perfect, but who are genuinely invested in their kid's best interests.

In the Nick of Time

The surgery put me into a herniated, anesthesia-induced stupor. Resulting in the brain failing to believe it was actually December until about one day ago. While others were hustling and bustling, I was watching with confusion. Why the stress, I thought, we have weeks left until Christmas.
Long story short, I sucked the majority of shopping into two days. The house was finally decorated Christmas Eve. Cards were sent, but my second Thanksgiving post never happened. So here it is! The kick of of holidays with the Schultes.
First, little Kenny's baptism. You'll notice Mike, Rose and I aren't near the baby. We were all reeling from  colds and flu so didn't want to risk it.

Then the Schulte cookie baking/December birthday event: