Baking Bread and stuff

     Etienne's been having some rough days (and nights).  My E has been home from the orphanage for over four years.  But every moment that he was lying in that cold metal crib, away from my arms, damage was done.  We are still reminded of it.  When he stares right through me and tells ridiculous, absurd lies.  At 3 AM, when he wakes us up because's he's taken his shirt off and undone his bed; my brain flashes back to a memory of rows and rows of cribs, all full but silent.  Our poor kiddo, he knows somewhere in his brain all the things he should not do, but he does them anyway.  His lack of self-control makes me sad, and truthfully, fearful of adolescence. The constant battles he fights, they suck.  It's ugly and it's not fair that everything is so hard for him.
     Honestly, it also infuriates me too.  Remember when you were chasing after your two year old all day, keeping them from hurting themselves and constantly finding a nice way to say "no"?  Yes, that.  There are days that I want to scream that he  is still not convinced of our love.
     The thing that helps is those ugly memories of his first home stop.  Thank you God that I can't forget.  Thank you God that You can make good out of the bad.  Thank you God that I today I found empathy with those memories.
     Trying to embrace the attachment thing, even though it makes me want to pull my hair out.  That means E stays by my side.  We decided we'd do some baking.  Molly made bread, E made banana bread and Zeke and I made sweet potato soup.  All at once.  Music blaring, flour flying, everyone talking at once and no one really listening.  It was a blast.  The only thing he broke was eggs.  Lots.  But no lies were told.  He smiled at me and I wasn't pushed away once.  We laughed that Molly's bread tasted like glue and rotten bananas are fun to squish.   We talked about birth moms and yeast and how the Oscars are stupid.  It was messy and loud and grand.