Hurt

Betty is sick again. I allowed myself to wonder, just the other day, how she was really doing and how much time she might have. It wasn't a pleasant thought. Just one of those nasties that creep in when I'm not watching the door closely enough. When I was wondering about it, I started crying. Crying for the loss, for the limits of time, for what our lives will be without her in them. But also, crying in thankfulness for the blessing of having had her in my life; for having her be my "other mother." It was stupid, of course. I blame PMS, or some random song on the radio or some cheesy commerical I accidentally saw. Whatever. She's alive. She's with Dad. They're at home.

Still...

We have to face facts.

We had planned to take friends out to Dad and Betty's place tomorro for a cookout and fireworks. I bought all of the groceries last night and all of the (too many, actually) fireworks today and Dad called. Whether it was bad cell reception or the fact that he was so upset, I'm not sure, but there were these huge pauses between his words. In fact, I sat down hard on the sofa, expecting the very, very worst. He sounded almost like he did when called to tell me Grandpa or Grandma were dead, but, somehow worse.

Betty's illness, and her hospitalization in December/January brought them closer together. It gave them a new appreciation for each other and for the fragility of life. When we recently visited for Father's Day, they sat together on the sofa, holding hands. Married 25 years and holding hands, talking with their kids, watching Isaac play...they don't seem to waste a chance to touch or to check on each other in some way.

Betty having to go into the hospital again will be very hard on Dad. It will be hard on Betty, as well, don't get me wrong, but he knows what it could be like this time. The hurt I heard in my dad's voice tonight? It made me cry. The love of his life is dying and he can't stop it. I don't want him to worry about us. We'll be fine. I hope and pray that she can stay out of the hospital. The steroids just aren't working like they should. I think Dad believes if she goes into the hospital again, she'll never come home. When I got off the phone, I called and apologized to our friends, who are amazing and without missing a beat, offered to host the celebration at their house. Then I told Isaac that Grandma was sick again and needed our prayers. So we linked arms, folded our hands, bowed our heads and prayed. Isaac prayed that Grandma would be better by tomorrow so we could still go to their house. I tried to tell him that we weren't going to their house, but we would still celebrate, but he still kept asking God. I let him. He's innocent. I just prayed that she would get better and not have to go to the hospital.

I don't even know why I'm writing all of this, except to help myself process. Betty always worries about each one of us so much. But we're doing really well right now. We're at a good place. We're healthy, we have jobs, we have a strong support system of family and friends around us. Our kids are healthy and strong, growing and learning and enjoying their summers. I don't want her to worry. I just want her to stay as healthy as she can - for as long as she can.

How to Parent a 6-Year-Old Boy

I'm just kidding. I have no idea. I'm just doing the best I can with the resources I have available to me. I borrow from other parents, from MY parents, teachers, coworkers - whoever I can!

This is an interesting age of independence. I used to keep Isaac at arm's reach, then I broadened his horizons by gating off the living room and letting him crawl, pull up and eventually walk, around. We always had an eye on him, though. I remember what a big deal it was when we could let him play in his room by himself. Every stage of development gave us, as parents, a little more freedom, as well.

Now that he is six and is obeying the rules (stay close to the house, don't go inside anyone's house, don't talk to anyone you don't know, don't go into the street, etc.) we can let Isaac go outside and play without one of us being outside with him. This is major. Yesterday, Isaac played outside for FIVE hours. From after breakfast until 4:00pm, he was outside...PLAYING. No video games, no movies, no sitting on his tush. PLAYING. He would come home every 10 or 15 minutes and check in or one of us would check on him. He plays with the little boy next door on one side - Austin, and the little girl on the other side - Trinity. If we weren't out there, Austin's dad or Trinity's dad (or uncle, or grandma) were out there. We could always see them and/or hear them, but it is so weird that he can just run out the front door and go PLAY - "alone."

Our weekends were once consumed with family stuff: errands, activities for Isaac, keeping him entertained and busy and now he can entertain himself. They play Ironman and Spiderman, they ride scooters and bikes and skin knees and get bug bites; they pretend and role play. They are socializing and negotiating and learning a lot of important life skills while they are outside, getting sweaty and grubby and being kids.

What did I do? Hm. Some laundry, some reading, some meal prep, I spent way too much time on Facebook playing Frontierville, watched Ghana beat the US and I NAPPED. Oh yes, the joy of a weekend afternoon nap! But I'm obviously going to need to find a hobby. My kid doesn't need ME to play with him anymore. It is bittersweet, as a lot of stages of parenting are, but it is so amazing when he asks me if he can go outside and play.

YES! YES! Go outside! Ha.

Except, this morning, he scared me to death by showing up at my bedside at the crack of dawn and staring at me. He has not done that in ages. I am a light sleeper and hard to sneak up on. He was dressed and asked me if he could go outside and play. It was probably no later than 7am. I told him that Austin and Trinity were probably still sleeping and he should go play in his room or watch TV.

That's ANOTHER thing. The TV. We have it "child locked" so no programing rated PG-13 or higher gets through without the code. It probably won't take him long to figure that out. But there are still things on there I'd rather him not watch. Yet, there he sits, sometimes, with the remote in hand, in charge of the TV. Weird. Pretty soon he'll be able to call a grandparent or a friend on my cell phone by himself, too. OH! And he can get to his few favorite websites on the laptop with no trouble at all.

There is a lot of anxiety in this parenting thing. As relaxed as I am getting, I'm always on guard, as well, at least internally. On Friday, we went down to the splash pad at the park down the street. We had the place to ourselves for a while, then an older kid walked down with a really cool remote control car. I didn't want Isaac to bother the kid, so I kept calling him back to me, but the draw of that car was too much for him. The kid was awesome, though and let Isaac try driving the car. Pretty soon, they were playing together. I talked with the kid some, found out his name and that he was 13. 13. And willing to play with a 6-year-old? When I told Pat about it, he was OK (and he's a professional). He explained that he was a lot like that at 13, because he was the youngest and never had a younger sibling to play with, guide, take care of, etc.

The boys played in the water and in the sand, they swang and jumped and drove the car around. Everything the kid did, Isaac tried to do, as well. I never saw anything that raised any red flags, but I could NOT relax. It was wearing me out. They climbed the chain link fence around the tennis court and the kid gave Isaac a boost. I watched him like a hawk. Where was he touching him? Was it appropriate? It is a sick, sad world that we live in that I had to do that. They ran around the other side of the tennis courts and wrestled on the ground like puppies. At one point, Isaac was laying on top of the kid and I called them back over closer where I could watch them. Other than that, everything was cool. But I didn't FEEL cool about it.

I really felt for this kid, living with his Grandpa for the summer while his dad is in South Dakota. He said when his dad gets back, they are moving to Springfield. He had t-shirt on from a small town near Springfield and I asked him about it. He said it was the "last school he went to." That seemed sad. No mention of a grandma or a mom or brothers or sisters. He said that he just "walks around and stuff" while his grandpa is at work. He had a cell phone and his grandpa called in to check on him while we were there. He had my sympathy, but not my trust.

Isaac has been outside playing most of the day today, as well, since we got back from church. I had him come inside and clean his room and rest for a little while and then he was ready to go back outside again. He came charging in the door a little while ago, excitedly rambling that Trinity's dad was going to take them all down to the splash pad. This was not OK with us. We don't know Trinity's dad that well. He said Austin's dad was going too. Again, I don't want him going that far away without one of us being with him and he has been at the splash pad this weekend twice already, it would be OK if he missed this time.

Of course, it was not OK with him. "But AUSTIN and TRINITY get to go!!!" It was one of our first opportunities to use the "well if they jumped off a bridge, would you do it too?" approach, or my favorite, "I'm not Austin or Trinity's parent, I'm YOUR parent and I say NO." Pat was talking to him and he mouthed off to him and went out the door. Oooh...yeah...that got ugly. Life's not fair little man.

But I still remember that horrible feeling of missing out on something fun because my parents were "MEAN" and said no. Now that I'm a parent, I know that they had reasons for saying no. Good reasons. They weren't just being mean. We want our kids to be happy, but at what cost? To the point where they become ungrateful little monsters who are in charge of US instead of the other way around? No thanks.

So, he's moping around acting like his world has come to an end and he doesn't have a friend in the world.

He'll get over it. Well all did.

Untitled

I have had this dream once before, but it was a little different.

We were about to adopt, again. We were expecting another boy, yet when we were standing in line at this big placement ceremony, each set of parents was handed a slip of paper with their new child's name on it and our paper said "Mary."

I burst into tears and gave Pat a giant hug. We were getting a girl! We would have a a boy and a girl, just like I always wanted. I couldn't wait to meet Mary - we had immediately decided to NOT change her name, we were just struggling with finding a middle name. I think we ended up naming her Mary Frances Elizabeth, or some variation of that, after all of our grandmothers ("M" for Maxine, my grandma - I wouldn't peg Maxine on a baby - even in a dream!).

Mary was a beautiful little girl, 6-12 months old. She had dark hair and big brown eyes. I noticed that all of the other families around us had babies and toddlers with special needs - Downs Syndrome, etc. and I realized the placement ceremony WAS for parents adopting children with special needs. There was a program and I started to look through it, wondering what Mary's special needs were. In the program, I found some babies names were marked with a picture of an angel and quickly realized these were babies who were not expected to live. I panicked and started flipping through the pages, looking for Mary's name, hoping not to find an angel. I did not.

Mary's information said that she had cri du chat syndrome. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cri_du_chat I was upset, but thought that this was something we could deal with. We took Mary home.

At this point in the dream, Mary was no longer a girl, she was a blonde little boy who could turn into a cat. I was trying to convince him to stay a little boy and not turn into a cat any more. He was a good, obedient child, just very mature for his age. We lived in an apartment, a multi-story building, and I remember looking out at the building across and all of the windows and it seemed that many of them had tattered quilts and blankets hung over them, instead of curtains. The blankets were fluttering in the wind and I wondered what they looked like on the other side.

Mary was older then, and "catboy" was gone. I took her in the car to go talk to a bill collector. I was just a matter of a few cents off on a payment and they were yelling at me.

She had the money all laid out on the counter and Mary, who was now a toddler, impressed her by counting the money. I told them that we would have the full payment at the end of the week and asked them for patience. They did not have patience. I told them that they could wait. I pointed out that I had waited four years for this beautiful child and had needed that money for her adoption and they could just wait for their money. That caused the lady to have compassion. She agreed to wait for payday. When I loaded Mary back into her car seat, I praised her for being such a smart girl and counting the money.

I realized that the car felt sort of empty. Where was Isaac? I remembered that we had to give him up in order to adopt Mary. He had been a sort of "placeholder child" until our REAL adoption went through. When I realized that, I was devastated. I kept having memories of him and trying to shut them out, telling myself to not think about him and focus on Mary. But the memories were too much. I eventually went to email our social worker and find out where Isaac had gone and try to get him back. I hated myself for letting him go so easily.

In the end, we were attempting to complete three adoptions: Mary's, the other little boy's and Isaac's. I didn't know how we were going to pull it off, but no matter what I did, I was going to have my family.

This is the second time I have dreamt of letting Isaac go. The first time was 2-3 years ago. Some of Isaac's birth family came for him and I let them have him. After a day or two, I regretted the decision and hated myself, grieving and mourning over the loss of my little boy.

Maybe the loss of a child is a common dream for parents, as we are all losing our children a little bit each day as they grow up and need us less and pull away from us more - long before we are ready.

The Kindness of Strangers

I had this very long, involved dream last night - the kind that makes one feel like they've been watching a movie. I wish I understood why it has stuck with me all day. I know some of the people in the dream and some I only wish I knew. Part of me kind of misses them today, now that I'm awake and they are gone.

I was running away in my dream. I had an excuse - I was writing two stories and I needed to do research. I needed to travel, so off I went, with very little information given to anyone, so a friend and her father followed me. They were familiar with the part of the country I was visiting and had family I could stay with. I was drawn in by their concern, their genuine sense of worry after my well-being and I stopped running and stayed with them.

Our first accommodations were very humble and there wasn't much privacy, but as the dream went on, they improved. We found more family who welcomed us. We went shopping for snacks that could only be found in that part of the country. We read the local newspapers and I did, indeed, research my story.

In part of the dream, my dream friends and I were able to glimpse into the future and see a couple who were now young and not even dating and see that they ended up very happily married with grandchildren, celebrating a 50th or even 60th wedding anniversary and one of their adult sons sang a song that he wrote especially for the occassion.

I had such a happy, content feeling that this couple should end up together, while looking in their eyes and knowing they had yet to even fall in love.

It was such a nice dream, but really full of people I barely know or don't even know at all. Why is it of any consequence? Why does it stay with me?

I was thinking about this today when I remembered a dream I had a little over two months ago and how I was so confused by it and what I thought it meant ended up not being what it meant at all. I didn't know one of the key players in that dream, either, at least not any deeper than on the surface, so much so that I didn't even recognize them in the dream and now they are very much a part of my life. My whole life changed in the 24-48 hours following that dream and everything is different now.

I hope this profound sense that this dream means SOMETHING just like that one did goes away. I'm happy. I don't want things to change so drastically again.

Airport Musings

We picked my dad up at the airport tonight when he returned from his buddy trip with his best friend, Gary Jones. I used to love airports, probably because I never have had to spend much time in them. I loved to people-watch at the arrivals gates, when lovedones could wait down at the gate, pre-9/11... I would see little kids waiting for grandparents and grandparents waiting for little kids; men holding bouquets of flowers, waiting for their wives or girlfriends; good friends who would sometimes laugh, cry and hug all at the same time when their buddies walked out of that gate.

It is different now, sure. I stayed with the car while Pat and Isaac went inside to wait at baggage claim, but even in the line of parked cars, emotions were evident in those who waited with me. In the car in front of me were a daddy, a little boy and the family dog. The little boy, who was probably 7 or 8, kept getting out of the car and running up to the doors to look in. At last, he got out one final time and sprinted for the door. He returned with his mom on his arm, looking much relieved to have her back on the ground with him.

I watched a lady in jeans and flip flops walk very slowly across the traffic lanes and off to the parking lot. I supposed she had just left the one she loved and was going home alone. I watched a man in his 60's loading the trunk of a taxi with a suitcase while balancing the freshly-lit cigarette on his bottom lip - feeding his habit not a few feet away from the airport doors. I saw an elegant-looking lady with bleached hair lean against her large suitcase and make a call on her cell phone. A white luxury SUV pulled up next to me and she walked over. A man opened the back hatch, without speaking a word to her (nor her to him) as he lifted the suitcase into the car. She went around to the passenger side and got in. They never spoke. They never embraced. They scarcely even looked at each other.

Perhaps I have it all wrong. Maybe they weren't married. He could have been her brother, or just a friend, maybe even an employee. Regardless, it was sad. I hope someone is always to welcome me home. I hope I am also worthy of that welcome.

The last day

I haven't quite figured out how to post pics here. But I will give it a shot I've been putting it off. Bad me, always putting stuff off. Tonight, I put off laundry, dishes, removing my nail polish...then I realized that at least one member of this family might have to "go commando" tomorrow, and I decided to put a load of clothes in at 10:00pm.

Yeah, I've talked to my therapist about my "Aww...it's 'good enough'" attitude. It really isn't sinking in, other than I'm thinking about it more.

But that's not why you called.

There are so many dates that stick with me where Isaac is concerned. I wonder if they are permanent memories or something that will fade, in time, like an old address or phone number. March 15, 2004, the day we found out about his birth mom.
(oddly enough, I don't remember the day she chose us. It was whatever Friday came after the 15th, I think. It happened fast.)
March 30, 2004, the day we found out he was a boy. We didn't want to find out, but she wanted us to know.
May 4, 2004, the day he was born.
May 7, 2004, the day he left the hospital to live with his foster grandparents.
May 8, 2004, the first time I heard him cry, on the phone, when I called his foster grandparents.
May 9, 2004, my first Mother's Day...and the last one I had without my son.
May 12, 2004, the day his birthmother went to court to terminate rights.

and today, May 20, 2004, the day he and his birth mother saw each other for the last time.

We were waiting out the 10 (business day) waiting period during which his birth mother could change her mind. She asked the social worker if she could see him again. They met the foster grandparents at a McDonald's. She held him one last time and took some pictures. When she got home, she wrote him a note. Copies of those pictures, with a few others, that note and information from the agency are the only tools we have to explain to him where he came from. And we have no information on his birth father at all, other than he was African American, tall (judging from Isaac's height) and he might have been a truck driver.

The note she wrote him on the last day she saw him is written as if to a much older kid. Perhaps she was clever in doing so. He will not read it until he is much older. It says that he can call or write her. It is very simple. The best she could do.

We will not know how to get in touch with her if the time should come that he wants to meet her. The agency lost touch not a year after he was born. We sent letters and pictures, as promised, but she never came to the agency and asked for them. She had been a bit of a drifter, would be 45 now and who knows, with her lifestyle as it was, if she is even still alive. Sad, but true.

I had no intention to get so morose when I sat down here to write.

But there you have it.

I try not to be a fool about such things, but part of me believes that he will just roll with it and not be interested in his birth family. It will be natural that he is curious, and I hope I'm ready for the stormyness of adolescence when it comes. I know I've got a long time to wait for that, but it will go by fast. I think he will probably want to know more about his birth father and that will be hard because we don't even have a name.

Everyday I hope that we're good enough. That he will always grow up feeling like he got the parents he was meant to have and our family belongs together.

Today, we remember the last day he was ever in his birth mother's arms.
Next week, we celebrate the day he came into ours.

Mayday! Mayday!

1.) I took Isaac to school and this little girl named Jayonna (that's not how she spells it, but that is how it sounds) turned around and started winking at him and throwing him coy looks. WINKING at him! I'm so not ready for this. When I picked him up on Thursday evening, he was playing with Jayonna. They were wearing dress-up clothes and having a wedding. He assures me they were not marrying each other, though. I think they must have been guests. She did not want him to leave and kept asking him to go with her to get a sheet? Or maybe a sheep? Out of the garden? I just couldn't understand what she was saying. I asked if he could do it on Friday and she said "Maybe Wednesday..." She's adorable. He knows the pretty girls.

2.) It is raining, it's pouring and in spite of the fact that it is an old wives' tale, I do think I have caught a cold from being out there in the wet all morning. But, I had stuff to do.

3.) I went to Target and got some stuff. I went to Party America and got 3 more whistle pops and 3 more packs of pop rocks so I can have a goody bag for each invited kid. I was worried about just doing the bags for kids who have RSVP'd and not having enough if we get some unexpected guests. Goody bag contents: a pencil, a wind-up robot, a tiny can of Play-doh, a mini kaliedescope, a "finger" skateboard, a noise-maker, a package of pop rocks and a whistle pop. I went to Michael's and discovered they have WAAAAY more cake and canding making/decorating supplies than Hobby Lobby. I got some stuff. I went to Reasor's, I got...more stuff.

4.) Between Target and Party America. My mom called me. Now T is doing well enough to stay home alone and Mom has gone back to work. Their financial problems are about as bad as they can get. Sometimes I think Mom is the one losing it, not T. She won't be at Isaac's birthday party tomorrow. That's OK. Between not having gas money, not wanting to leave T alone and the flood waters...she needs to stay home. Isaac probably won't notice his Nana isn't there, but we're not mentioning it to him unless/until he asks, because he will probably get emotional about it.

5.) I went home and baked a cake. And the cake came out of the pan just fine! Yay! I followed directions to a "t." While the cake was cooling, I made the "Eva-pops". (Wall-E theme on the party, if you haven't seen the movie, Eve (or Eva) is Wall-E's friend). I had seen the pops online. A mom made hers out of crumbled up cake mixed with icing, then dipped in white chocolate. I thought Rice Krispie treats would work just as well.

I was wrong. Let's just leave it at that. I bit the heads off a few failures and felt a little better.

6.) I iced the cake in white, as per instructions. So far, so good. I moved onto start decorating and discovered this bad boy was a giant pain in the ass. I was not well organized. I didn't have the right tips. I couldn't see where I needed to be putting things and I was frustrated and stressed out and increasingly covered in icing. I smelled like buttercream all day. I was NOT having fun. This was supposed to be FUN. So, I cleaned up, changed clothes and went for a manicure and pedicure. Oh, but BEFORE that, I stopped by the bakery down the street and bought a very generic sheet cake. I'll pop the Wall-E figurine/candle on there and no one will care. The cake will taste just as good (maybe better) and I'm not going crazy or bathing in buttercream. Sure, I spent some money on the pan, the colors, the icings, etc. But I can return everything I didn't use and maybe I can sell the pan on Craigslist. Whatever.

7.) I went home and started cleaning up the kitchen. I put a deli pizza in the oven, directly on the rack as I have done many, many times before. Pat and Isaac did a great job cleaning the living room and putting clothes away. I began to take the pizza out of the oven by sliding a cookie sheet underneath it and pulling forward, as I have done MANY, MANY times before. But instead of sliding forward, the pizza tilted backwards and fried itself to the back wall of the oven. Melted cheese and sauce slide down and stuck to the bottom burners. It took all the strength I had left not to drop an F-bomb.

8.) Oh yeah, we are back to Pat having NO time off for our anniversary.

9.) Ever wonder why you even try in the first place?

10.) Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow it is someone else's turn to walk under the dark cloud.