Rose's handiwork

In college I used to paint Mike's toe nails. Now Rosie does. Gotta love it.

Crayons in the Mustang

It is always amusing how completely our lives have changed. Today I struggled to put my coffee cup in the Mustang's cupholder due to an orange crayon that claimed the spot first.

Kinda takes away from the sleek, sporty, sassy dream car but it also adds to it. I just need to trade in the car before it looks like I am trying to mask my age or motherhood.

Happy Easter...a few pictures

This is a day we will treasure always, and we can carry with us on the harder days. At Easter dinner, my Uncle said grace, and he thanked God twice for bringing Rosie into our lives.

After dinner she looked at me and said, "I'm blessed." I couldn't agree with her or my uncle more.

I think we might have gone a little overboard.

But this is the most awesome Easter basket I've ever seen.

A mid-Easter egg hunt hug

Just like when I was a kid, the eggs in most plain sight were the hardest to find.

Candy from Grandma

I am so spoiled, Rosie said. Oh boy, just wait until Christmas, I thought.

Mike's book about Martin Luther King, Jr. was a big hit

Enough with the photos already!

The aftermath.

Cinnamon french toast.

The breakfast table complete with a chocolate bunny beside Rosie's plate. It was put there by her for the moment she ate enough breakfast (as deemed by me) to rip into it.

Catch with Dad

Soccer with Amy's family

Kite flying.

Piano playing with Mike's family.

The show must go on

The abnormal had become normal. The downs didn't seem too remarkable any longer. The ups were just happy moments of parenthood that compelled us to adopt.

Then this weekend we found a new level of abnormal. Of course, it was discovered just thirty minutes before cohosts of a baby shower I was hosting were about to arrive. I was coming home from a quick run to the DMV to renew my driver's licence and a quick stop at Party City for balloons--a party must.

Although she was in a good mood when I left, Rose was having difficulty staying on task to get her chores done, and she was being blatantly rude and just plain mean to Mike. When I say mean, I realize it's easy for some to think "she's only 10" but you have to live it to get it. She knows exactly how to shake you to your core if it helps her gain control.

Control was her survival mechanism all this time. It can't end now.

The end of the argument resulted in Rosie grabbing a plastic bag and putting it over her head. When Mike got it away from her, she ran to the kitchen to get a knife. He stopped her, and then he called the 9-11 for help.

When I got home, I was greeted by Mike and Rose, both extremely upset. In the 90 minutes I'd been gone, both had been reduced to tears. The police arrived shortly after me, and they asked Rose what her intentions were and gave her a pep talk about life and how important it is.

When they left, we all cried and hugged eachother, then I asked each of us to take a little break from one another. We still had a party to host. I went into Rosie's room and asked her if she were up for a party or needed a break to visit Grandma. I also tried to think of ways to move the shower. She was so excited for the party despite the drama she wanted to stay. So then we finished cleaning the house, and by the time our friends arrived, you'd have never guessed we had a suicidal 10-year-old just two hours before.

Ironically, I wanted to host the shower to help myself feel more normal in this new world--to do the things I've always done. And the shower was a huge hit although I am sure I was a little more on edge throughout and the number of grey hairs I had to tweeze last night serve as proof of the toll the entire day took on my nerves.

We did have a family chat after the party and before we all sat down to watch a movie. Rosie said she felt scared when the police came. She thought they were going to take her away--much like they did from her birth father. Rosie doesn't respect police right now, and I don't blame her. We assured her we wouldn't allow that to happen, and they only came here to help us know that she was safe. We reinforced that her behavior scared us a lot, too. She believed us.

I called her psychologist today who said Mike did exactly the right thing. She suggested we do lock up our knives. This behavior is typical of adopted kids who actually prefer negative attention to positive. Mostly because they are used to negative, and their self esteem is so low positive attention doesn't compute.

Today though was a better day. We got up, Mike made crepes. I straightened Rosie's hair, and then we went to the Science Museum to make Ukranian Easter Eggs.

Oh, and in other ways, the show has gone on. I have found energy to not only get dressed in more manicured office attire but also put make-up on again daily. Turns out those little things make me feel much more in control when the rest of my life feels rather nutty.

I love my 5 a.m. workout more than ever and am going to work in a run during work lunch as soon as my running buddy and I can work our schedules out, which means the little things that keep me sane are slowly lining up. Next: figuring out how to have time for friends.

I was ready to talk about that but...

A little advanced warning. If you are shy, you might want to skip this blog.

We knew she was going to hit puberty sooner than later. So we prepared ourselves to talk about sex. Since she's ten, we answer everything with as short of an answer as possible. If the short answer satisfies her curiosity, great. If not, then we provide more short answers. All are honest and use the real words. Yet, her questions are unabashed, which I wasn't prepared for.

For example, today she wanted to know whether Mike and I have sex, and if we'd had it since she moved in. Hmm, should I be honest now, I thought? I decided so. So I answered, yes, we have sex like all married couples. Any other details are personal and aren't meant to be shared.

Then she informed me she wanted babies when she was 16. She'd think about having them now, she said, but she can't have babies yet because she doesn't have her period. (Thank heavens, we say.) So then I responded by talking through all the things she'd have to do when she was 16 to have a baby: go to school at night, work full time at a job like McDonald's so all her money could support the baby. Ok, 19, she reasoned. I repeated the story from seconds ago but inserted college with high school. OK, 25, she said. OK, I said.

I also wasn't prepared to to have to have these somewhat instrusive and challenging conversations all the time. Seriously. In the past few days we've talked about sex on the way to the bus and on the way back from the bus. We discuss sex at dinner and breakfast. Odds are if we're talking about something, it is related to sex.