Real Mom

I sat down to write and really just didn’t know where to start.  So I began just by taking a breath.  A big long deep breath. And I reminded myself where I am now and what I had just been through – where WE are and what we have been through.  It’s a miracle really.  This time last year we were driving our boys to their first days of American school.  I was way more scared than they were (I think).   After one year, I’m pretty sure I still don’t know what I’m doing and more scared than they are, but I find comfort in hearing almost every other parent say that back to me. 

Recently I posted this picture of our boys after taking them to the Parthenon replica here in Nashville and said “…we took an unexpected exit to see the Parthenon and get snow cones. And that’s exactly what this journey feels like – surprise turns and treats.  Most days this is really hard.  Every day it’s really worth it.”

And their heartbreaking questions and comments are beginning…

“Mom, did you and Dad buy us?”

“Mom, tell me the story about when my mom Haitian said you could have me.”

Their curious hearts and minds can’t wrap around this, and I get it. Their stories rest so heavy on my heart.  I do not know what their little diaper bottoms looked like.  I do not know their first word spoken.  I do not have a baby book with recorded memories for them.  I grieve those moments I did not share.  And what I now understand is that those were not mine to share. These moments – days at the Parthenon eating snow cones – are mine to share. And I grieve in a whole other way that their Haitian mamas don’t have those.  

A lot of adopted parents get pretty defensive about the “real mom and dad” language.  For example, if someone asks who is the “real” mom and dad, it’s hurtful. But I don’t want to shame or judge anyone about that – most people mean no harm.  What I do want to acknowledge and honor is that my boys have 2 moms and 2 dads.  Real ones.  We all play a really important part of their lives.  When I answered my boy's second question above, I said, “your mom Haitian told me she wanted you to have an opportunity to grow and learn. She loved you so much that she and I became a mom team.  She gave you life, and I help you grow and live your life. She is always in your heart loving and believing in you, and so am I.  I will never take her place.  She is special in her way, and I am special in mine.” And then we hung their Haitian mothers’ pictures in our kitchen.  And then I went to my bedroom and cried for hours.  I wonder if their Haitian mamas would be proud of me.  This is so freaking hard.

I found two crumbled packets of crackers in our pantry a few days ago and just wept.  It is what the twins’ Haitian mom gave them on the day they last saw her. She said she wanted to make sure they had a snack for the plane to America.  They would not eat them. They wanted to save them. Can you imagine what that must have been like for her to offer what she could give them one last time – and for them to save it so sweetly?  I have them tucked away in a special place.  We are all just carrying the grief and tucking it away.

I also realize that some people don’t feel like they can relate to our story or don’t understand adoption and why we chose this path.  But I’m a big believer we can all connect in our stories – no matter how different.  For example, a new family moved in our neighborhood - two women and their daughters - and one of the little girls excitedly told me “Guess what? I have TWO mommies!”  I said, “I think that’s really special. My boys have 2 mommies too!”

I am so thankful for all real mamas and daddies.  We are in this together. 

Simplify

Summer is kicking my butt.  I am not complaining, because poolside umbrella drinks and fireflies on my courtyard patio are pretty fantastic.  But for some reason I am not basking in rays of sunshine and frolicking in parks.  Here’s why – there is no structure.  And I need a little structure.  Most of us do if we are honest.  I definitely need some days with no plans or agendas. It keeps me flexible and real. But mostly I need a cadence, a rhythm I can dance to that feels comfortable.  And my dance right now feels like EDM on crack. (Ask a teenager what EDM is if you don’t know).

So on my list of things to do (yes, structure), I’ve made a top priority to simplify.  Part of not having any structure usually means I’ve got too many other things in the way.  It's like pulling weeds, cleaning out the closet, organizing the pantry, or any other metaphor I can think of that represents “making space” or “letting go of what is no longer needed or useful.” This is hard, because I sometimes can’t see what might be in the way.  Things that seem completely harmless might actually be taking up space in my heart, mind, and life that something else I need more could fill.  So….(big deep breath)…I’m taking social media off my phone for awhile.  I find myself checking between errands, clients, in the grocery line, at red lights, every mother lovin’ minute I can.  And it’s not necessary all the time. I love good articles, seeing people’s photos, and the connection with others. It helps me not feel alone.  I mean, don’t we all post and comment so we can feel connected, heard, seen? But I’m realizing I want deeper connection - with myself and others. And I don’t necessarily want all of facebook and instagramland to have all the precious and delicate moments of my family.  What if I used more of my “social media checker time” actually engaging the present moment I’m in – dip my toe in the river by my house, watch the bird in my courtyard, or talk to the son sitting right next to me.  I’m sure I’ll be back to social world, because it truly does have its perks. But right now, I’m simplifying.  And it’s not necessary for this season. 

After creating space, I do things that put me back in touch with myself. That’s SUPER hard for me to do, because that never feels productive in the moment.  I can check off with confidence that I’ve gotten groceries, but it’s pretty subjective whether or not I’ve tended to my heart. And it’s not something I can check off, because it has to happen every day.  I put it on my list and groan – oh, there’s that self-care thing again – how do I check that off? What do I even need? But what I’ve learned over and over again is this care for myself – my oxygen mask – actually makes me more productive in the long run. So just do it, my list-checking friends.  Your family and everyone around you actually need you to care for yourself too. 

I am not sure yet what my simplifying season holds or what it will look like.  I just know it is necessary.  This is most likely part 1 of a 2 part blog.  So I’ll check back after I’ve learned more about it and myself in it.  In the meantime…

~What does simplifying your life look like?

~Do you need structure? Why or why not?

~What do you need to “let go of” in order to create more space in your life?  Keep in mind, depending what it is, it might just be for this season or it might be forever.  

~How do you tend to your heart, care for yourself, rest?

It's Like Riding a Bike

I cringe when I hear people say, "It's easy - just like riding a bike." I am 36 years old, and I just learned to ride a bike.  

I could not admit this to anyone before.  A handful of special people in my life knew the truth, but the few times I let it slip in a not-so-safe group of people, the confused looks and laughter made me want to run, hide, and vomit.  

I could spend this post focusing on all the sad and painful reasons I never learned before now. I’ve actually spent time in therapy talking about it.  One thing I know for sure is I never really was any good at “playing.” Riding a bike didn’t seem like a good use of time.  How productive could that be really? I remember playing with my friends and cousins as a kid sometimes, but I honestly can’t remember what I did for fun.  I remember recess at school being traumatic – like what the hell am I supposed to do with that slide and monkey bars?  My spring breaks in high school and college were spent working – I always had a job to do.

But now I have kids, and they want to play.  (Insert explicative here, because I promised myself I would limit myself to one cuss word in this post, and I already used it).  HOW DO I PLAY?  And they want to ride bikes!! AHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

So I admitted my shameful secret to them – “Guys, I don’t know how to ride a bike, and I am really bad at playing. Can you teach me?”

Because our boys are still learning English, their communication and words are very precise and full of as much meaning as they can get in one sentence. It is short, yet deep – constant one liners that make my heart jump.  So when Woody said, “Mom, only move the handles.  Keep your body straight when you feel scared,” it made all kinds of sense to me.  I had been spending my life moving my body around in defensive response to the fear of losing control – the feeling of being overwhelmed and unbalanced.  The flailing and fighting only left me tired and more unbalanced.  What if I could let my body rest and guide myself through the fear?  (This is way more than about bike riding).  Then Wilnes said, “You have to fall down a lot to learn. I have many scars on my knees.”  Right?  Soak that in. I’m not even going to say much more about that, because my boys said enough.  

So I rode a bike. I am slow at it.  I am still learning to navigate as the curves and hills come.  And that’s okay.  This is exactly how life feels right now as a new mom of 3 older adopted children.  I’m falling down a lot. I’m scared.  It feels out of control.  But I am holding my body and heart in balance with gentleness and compassion while I get used to these new wheels.  

~Are you learning something new in your life? New wife, mom, job, etc?

~What is scary about this?

~Remind yourself it’s okay to fall – it’s part of the learning.  What did that scar show you?

~Ask your body what it might need to help you feel more balanced while you are learning.

In Harmony With Our Differences

Often when I open Facebook I see blogs with the theme of something we should STOP doing.  For example,

What Not to Say to Adoptive Parents

What Not to Say to Parents who have children with Special Needs

What Not to Say to Single Parents

And those are just the parent topics, there’s also these…

What Christians Should Stop Saying Immediately

What Foods to Always Avoid

What Women Should Stop Doing by Age ____

I could write about each of these topics separately, but collectively there is a theme of pointing a finger and telling someone to stop.  There is an argument to be had - to publicly ask the madness, cruelty, or insensitivity to stop.  And perhaps the argument is valid and worth having.  As an adoptive mom, I will use that topic specifically to hopefully convey what I hope will be an invitation to all of us to embrace our stories and ask for grace versus telling others to “stop” doing something to us.  I have been an offender of this for sure, and I’m ready to rethink it.

I am often offended at comments people make to me about my children or adoption.  But here’s the thing – they have NO idea they are being rude, nor do they mean to be.  And if I write about a blog about what to STOP saying to me about adoption, I’m just shaming them and disconnecting.  And here’s what I usually mean when I get on a rant about what NOT to say to me ….I’m lonely. I’m so sad they don’t get it, and I feel disconnected. 

Think about it.  When we write or read blogs with people who are like us or share the same opinions, we feel the power of connection.  We get the, “someone gets me” high.  So when us adoptive parents write the “please stop saying this to us” blogs, we join forces together. And there truly is comfort in that, and again, often a valid concern we are trying to ask others to consider. For example, our children aren’t “lucky” to have us, so it’s important to elaborate on that for others who may not get that.  But we shut out the rest of the world and potentially disconnect ourselves even more when we get on our soap box and don’t consider the tone we take with others who don’t understand. 

I know 2 other American couples like us who adopted 3 children internationally and brought them all home at the same time. We have contact with these families, but not consistently due to different schools and locations.  So most of our contact is with families very different from us (and have their own set of struggles) and don’t always get the trials we face.  This is extremely lonely.  We are incredibly loved, but we can’t expect everyone to totally get where we are coming from.   And often this makes me want to write the ever popular “please stop saying this to me” blog. But here’s what I really want you to know - I am lonely.  I feel like no one gets this.  I am not really mad at you when you talk about how “lucky” my children are for being “rescued.” I am sad you have no concept of what they (or we) have gone through. I am sad I can’t connect with you in your birth or developmental processes with your child. So I could get all cranky and write a blog about “don’t talk to adoptive parents about your kid’s hard time with potty training,” or I can accept the truth that we all have different paths, understandings, and callings. I could get bitter and go in my corner and stand ready to fight with other adoptive parents…OR I can be really honest with you and tell you how lonely it is to feel so different because I have to rock my twelve year old son and feed him like a baby sometimes because he is so behind developmentally.  I don’t want to scream at you about this. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.  I don’t want to fight. I want to tell you I am tired and scared.  I want to accept your family’s story. And I hope you will accept mine.

What would happen if we all put our weapons down and voiced our opinions from the experience of our feelings rather than trying to make other people like us?  What if instead of telling others what NOT to do, we start sharing our hurt and suggest what they could do to help us?

I’ll start.  As an adoptive mother, I ask for your grace.  I am not just a new mom, but I am a new mom of 3 adolescents. I didn’t change their diapers.  I didn’t breast feed.  I didn’t teach them to tie their shoes. I didn’t see them off to their first day of school. They have another mother they grieve every day.  They have another country that feels more like home.  It is all so complicated.  And I stand with you ALL of you mamas out there in the unique battles we each face. I don’t want to suggest or act like it’s harder for me. I am just sharing my truth and acknowledging it is different. 

When I was a kid I loved that Coke commercial that sang:

 “I’d like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony

I’d like to buy the world a Coke and keep it company.”

I’ve always been the type of person who wanted everyone to get along. But as I get older I recognize it’s so much more than getting along. It’s about accepting differences and being okay anyway.  We can harmonize in our differences.  We don’t have to be lonely and disconnect.  We can show up, sing our part of the melody, and let others sing theirs. 

Photo courtesy of my friend Elizabeth - another brave mama on her journey and sharing her children with mine.  

Stool Samples on New Year's Eve

When I worked in the music business in my past life, one of my favorite things to do with my co-workers and friends (Thanks, Danny and Todd) was to come up with our faux album titles – because we are all stars in Nashville just waiting for our shot – might as well have our titles ready to go.  It ranged from “Tacos in the Fellowship Hall” to “Getting Waxed at 2pm.”  I coined one of my son’s album titles tonight – “Stool Samples on New Year’s Eve.”

We’re in the hospital again.  He’s got wicked belly pain flaring back up, so they’ve got teams of wonderful doctors running more tests – from Gastrointestinal to Infectious Disease.  I started to get all broody about spending the end of our 2014 this way.  I could easily pitch a fit about the fact that we spent way too much of our Christmas season in a hospital.  But I won’t.  Am I sad? Yes.  Am I angry? Yes.  Am I going to let it ruin me? No.  I’m still learning the art of letting myself feel but not letting it suffocate me.  So much happened in 2014. So much cool, crazy, beautiful stuff.  And also some hard, painful, awakening stuff.  It's interesting how it's a metaphor with my son's belly issues. We've got to do a serious gut-check and clean out anything that doesn't belong so we can move forward with a clean start - you know, check your crap.

Here’s what happens when you hit a threshold of disappointments - you grow up.  I can’t have a celebration cocktail toast with my husband and cuddle with him at midnight.  He’s with Wendy at Vanderbilt Children’s collecting stool samples, and I’m at home with Wilnes and Woody trying to maintain normalcy and explain why brother is in the hospital again.  I had a dream that after our boys came home, life wouldn't be so hard and sad anymore.  But our sadness wasn't limited to 2013.  And thankfully our celebration is not limited to tonight.  The joy does not have to be reserved for this particular holiday. There is always an appointed and right time for everything (check out Ecclesiastes 3). And now is not our time to party.  Now is our time to feel the growing pains. It is time to let go of our plans and expectations, to feel both the hardship and beauty of parenthood, to sit with complicated unanswered questions, to lean into struggles and trust we are not alone.  And maybe next week (or next month), we’ll get a hot date night. 

So on this eve of 2015, while Todd is entertained by our boy’s magnesium-induced colon flush and I fold a third load of Christmas travels laundry, I am both grief-filled and grateful.  The grief reminds me I am no longer a young newly married woman to be whisked away for a night of dancing and fun to close out 2014.  I'm grieving the loss of independence.  And it’s okay to grieve what I miss.  At the same time, I am gratfeful for the opportunity to be someone’s mama.  I’m grateful to be stretched outside my comfort zone. I am grateful to be amid the hard lesson of releasing my plans and expectations.  I am grateful for the men in my life.  I am grateful I have a whole new year ahead to continue doing life with them and find another night to light sparklers, wear funny hats, and dance to Iggy Azalea.  I am grateful for answers currently being explored regarding our sweet boy's health. I am incredibly grateful for a completed family.

Friends, what are you both grieving and grateful for in 2014?  You are not alone.

Mom Confession Part 2 - "In Recovery"

I cannot describe the amount of guilt and shame I have felt the past week.  After my last post about my “doctor mom” inadequacies (click here for a refresher), it all spiraled – his health, my shame, and our sanity. 

I am writing from Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital where my son is sleeping peacefully beside me in his Santa hat.  He got out of surgery 3 hours ago. They found abscesses in his belly, so there are now tubes draining out some mean ol’ bacteria.  We don’t know what caused it right now.  We are here a few more days for further tests and to make sure all the bacteria is cleaned out.

For the last week I have been telling my sweet boy that “this is just a virus” and “it will all be over soon” and “just eat or drink something” and “it’s okay to fart and poop yourself.”  I even went as far as to say, “Buddy, they aren’t going to cut your belly open again.”  Shit. Why did I say that? I’ll tell you why – because I believed it. I believed it was just a virus and that he was okay, and I desperately wanted my kid to not be afraid of the trauma he had already endured in Haiti (if you didn’t know – he had an appendectomy in Haiti right before coming home – potentially the source of these abscesses).  But I lied.  I didn’t mean to, but I did. I spent the last week convincing him and myself that he had a stomach bug that was being exacerbated by his fear and trauma.  And to be fair, that happens sometimes. It’s possible.

So now that I’ve admitted my mistake, it's important to remind myself I’m still a good mom. I may have misunderstood and misdiagnosed.  But I never stopped loving, caring, and looking for answers.  There was a reason I felt so tired, stressed, frustrated and lacking that “nurturing” mom piece. I literally had no possible way to ease the pain he was feeling. And as a parent, that is brutal.  I listened to my son cry out in pain “why, Jesus, why” for hours on end. I had nothing left to try – doctor visits, liquids, oils, meds, walking, breathing, sleeping.  If it was an option, we tried it.  So of course I was spent.  He was spent.  We were powerless.  I’m stubborn anyway, but especially for thinking I can fix something – and on my own.  So on Wednesday when he looked up at me with his tearful tired eyes and said, “mom, are you mad to me?” I knew it was time to let go. I was trying too hard.  Of course I was mad - mad that I couldn’t help my son. I said, “Buddy, I am mad -  not at you, but at the sick in your belly. We are going to call more people and figure this out.”  And with another call and dr visit, a CT scan was ordered, and here we are. 

I am painfully limited. And so are you.  I am also enough.  And so are you.  God did not make us to have all the answers. We cannot do this alone.  So even though my shame spiraled, it does not have power over me.  It is teaching me humility and humanity. I am doing the best I can do as a mama, and I am learning from my mistakes. I can use the guilt and shame as an opportunity to beat myself up OR I can use it to notice how I might want to do things differently next time.  The latter option is so much more compassionate.  We are all going to poop our pants as a parent (again, see my previous post).  I am cleaning up my mess as we speak.  But the reality is that I did do my job as a parent.  I got him to the help he needed. I persisted.  I didn’t give up.  I found answers I didn’t have.  I would like to go back and un-tell my son they aren’t going to cut his belly open again.  I can’t.  But I can use this opportunity to ask his forgiveness and model human imperfection and grace – possibly one of the most important lessons we will ever teach. 

Someday Wendy and his brothers Woody and Wilnes will read this and hopefully know how much their mama cared and how hard she tried – even though she messed up a lot. 

And hopefully you read this knowing you are not alone in your parenting shame. Hang in there, friends.  Let yourself rest in recovery.

Mom Confession

I have been at home with a sick child for the past five days.  You might be thinking a lot of things – like “Oh, bless his heart” or “Oh, it must be good to have a mama caring for him.”  Here’s what you don’t say out loud – “Oh, I bet you are tired of waking up in the middle of the night and cuddling" or "I bet you are ready to start seeing clients again." And I don’t care to admit it either.  But I’m going to admit it.  For the sake of all other moms out there struggling to admit their shameful inadequacies, here goes nothing…

I’ve heard other moms talk about cuddling their sick child, making soup, rubbing feet.  I’m doing those things, but somehow it feels like I'm missing something.  I know it’s important.  Heck, when I think about being a sick kid I wanted those things. I want those things as an adult!  But as a human, I’m painfully limited.  I make soup with frustration that my kid is home from school another day and all my plans are shot to poo.  I cuddle with thoughts of “Dear Jesus, please don’t let his germs jump on me and brew a demon in my belly too.”  I rub his feet thinking, “Please make this end soon.”  Ugh – are you still reading?  Are you thinking what a terrible and selfish mom I must be?  Me too.  It’s embarrassing. I’m a therapist for crying out loud! I help people! I have compassion! I nurture!  AND I’M HUMAN.  So are you, dear sister.  So call a friend. Be honest. Tell her that all you want to do is punch something because the monster in your kid's tummy keeps waking him up in the middle of the night.  When I said this to my friend today she was thankful I was honest with her.  She said when she has tried to admit this vulnerability to other friends, “the blank stares were enough to send her running for cover.” Oh dear.  C’mon friends, let’s be in this together.  We are all wired differently. I may feel completely inadequate at the nursing part, but here’s what I can do… I just taught my kid to take deep breaths and talk to his belly. He’s so pent up with gas and is afraid to fart.  He said, “Mom, I might poop myself and break my underwear.”  Legit fear.  So here we go…deep breath in. Deep breath out.  Now tell your belly it’s okay to fart.  “C’mon belly, it’s safe to fart.  If you poop yourself it will be okay. We’ll clean up the mess.”

Y'all, it's not warm and fuzzy, but it's working.  And that’s the kind of mom I am.  I’m owning it.  So what if I’m following my kid around disinfecting him and everything else with OnGuard oil (this stuff is amazing for keeping his fever down and keeping the rest of us from getting sick too – click here for more info and message me if you need some!).  I'm the mom I've heard other moms talk about.  But I love him so big.   I'm a million kinds of blessed to have him and his brothers in my life and to be given the job of being their mama.  I’m doing a good job.  I’m enough.  So are you!  If we do this all wrong and poop ourselves it will be okay – we can clean up the mess.

 Sweet sick little Wendy pictured with his elf he named Jason Derulo.