The Other Shoe.

     We've been waiting for the other shoe to drop since returning from Rwanda.  And guess what?  It hasn't.  That stinkin' shoe hasn't even slipped loose.
     For real.  Pinch me.  There have been countless moments when I have thought to myself "this is the best summer we have had since 2009!"  I can't tell you how many times my eyes have welled up with tears as Ryan and I sit on our red bench, watching our kids play baseball or catch fire flies.  I have not sat on the steps outside the boys' room, crying, once this summer (since '09, I would almost nightly collapse in tears next to Ryan on those stairs).  We are entering our last week of summer here...I think it's safe to say that we stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop.
     There is zero logic in our plan. Zero.  Who goes to the other side of the world to find healing for their son's hurt heart?  We haven't gone to therapy, there aren't any new supplements or theories or attachment techniques.  It's just another chapter that God has written in Etienne's life.  And I am so, so thankful for this illogical twist.
     We still have our wet beds, our crashing into everything, our general random-weird-post institution behavior.  But the dark, flat stares, the manipulating lies, the hurtful actions are nothing like what we've survived in the past.
     Part of it is that I have embraced that my E will never function  like other kids.  Don't judge-let me explain.  For example,  I know Etienne's cues these days and I'm meeting him where he's at.  If he's been out of his comfort zone, over stimulated or tired, it doesn't work to try to snuggle him or even to have him nap.  Instead, we've taken to running together.  The physical exercise helps him regulate himself as well as taking him away from the stimuli (or the grown up that is low on patience).  So when he's starting to do flips off the furniture (I'm not kidding) or laughing his high pitched tired scream, I make him run five laps around the perimeter of the house.  Corporal punishment? Nope, he likes it and we call it "preseason conditioning."
     School starts soon.  E says he could "stay in summer forever."  I'm not gonna lie; I have my own fears about him returning to sitting in a desk, in a classroom with people that don't know his heart.  I get nervous to think that the expectations of the school are going to be really, really challenging for him.  But then I go the grocery store and another mother tells me that E was always the boy that tied her son's shoes.  Or we work in the school garden and his old teacher shares how he always offered to pray for his classmates.  And I know God is using my E in that public school to bring Him glory.
      I think back to a few months ago, when we were so afraid of the aftermath of going to Africa.  And that aftermath has been the best summer of our lives: a swimming, books, ice cream, tan lines, s'mores, road trips, fire flies,  bare feet kinda summer.  It was worth it.  The last four years of feeling like we were just hanging on.  They have been worth every moment we have savored this summer.  So bring on first grade! (Gulp.)  

If he really knew

     Remember when your toddler was exploring independence and by the end of the day, you were just exhausted from running after him?  Remember those days when it felt like all you did was say "No!" and "Stop!"; when parenting just felt like being bad guy?
     That is how it feels when Etienne is spiraling.  I really need to be within a couple feet of him because being even being in my presence is often not enough to keep him out of trouble.  This is just reality.  It's things like walking crossing the room and having him pop out the door and light up the grill.  It's crazy how quick he is (not to mention his skill and memory!) and how slow I seem to have become.
     This morning we started off the day with about 20 minutes of The Crocodile Hunter (now have requests to be Steve Irwin for Halloween) followed by two rounds of some board games, than working in the garden together.  I made the mistake of then starting up the treadmill during a ruckus game of "Scene It".  My focus on running, I missed E grabbing the game box over his head and shredding it to pieces.  After I stopped this Hulk move too late, I asked him to go get some books to read while he sat alone next to me.  I followed him to the bookshelves and overheard him mumbling to himself "Mommy only likes the good kids."  Sigh.  Ugh.  He didn't know I was there to hear him so he wasn't saying it to get a reaction out of me.  He probably meant it.
     A couple weeks ago I was trying to explain to a newer friend of mine that Etienne still doesn't believe that I love him.  That discipline  is difficult because I often fear that he doesn't know that I discipline because I love him so much.  She argued that he was just "trying to press your buttons."  I gave up trying to explain to her because she couldn't hear or understand.  Maybe that is true sometimes that he wants to upset me, but not today.  Not in this moment.  My fear was realized again.
    Please, if you want to be my friend or the friend of a parent with a child like Etienne, don't try to convince them that their child knows they are loved, that their child is like every other child at that age or that what's going on is normal.  It's not okay to accept that a child doesn't believe they are loved, valued or wanted.  Its not okay to settle for mediocre.

     I am again humbled by this reality.  The reality of abandonment, loneliness and doubt.  That my work is not yet finished in proving  that I am his mother; that my love for him is unconditional and without pause.  So I'm pulling up my boot straps and we are headed to the pool for the afternoon.  Believe it or not, its actually easier to contain him and keep him out of trouble in a large body of water than it is in my home.  Go ahead, process that one.

They love that Blake, at 42lbs, can hold Etienne, at 65lbs.  

This is how it goes.

     Y'all know that when we take a ginormous  step forward, we then have two steps back.  In many ways, this pattern is a blessing just because we can brace ourselves for the RAD behavior that follows.  Really, who can blame a child that didn't know touch, comfort or love for so long?  It is a dance, this embracing, than pushing away.
     Yesterday E shared his family poster with his class.  He said he was afraid until he looked at his teacher.  He told them about his birth mom and how God got him to us.  His version of the presentation was unremarkable (which is normal, we love normal) and according to him, his classmates think being from Africa is "interesting!"    
     Early this morning there had been enough lying and defiance for me to know that we needed to cancel any plans I may have had for today.  I found Etienne lying on my bathroom floor, lethargic.  He insisted he felt fine and that he wasn't tired.  I knelt down next to him and he started crying really hard.  I tried saying, "I'm sorry that you are sad.  Is there something you are afraid or worried about?"  He did his over exaggerated head shake at me.  Then he let me pick him up and rock him.  For several hours, my big tough bear needed carried all around the house.  However, by lunch time Etienne was pushing me away.  My gut instinct was that I just needed to let him cry and not force the attachment parenting in that moment.  Words weren't needed, just a presence.
     Is this what grief looks like for a little boy?  It feels like he is suffering a loss today.  I have heard and read that most adopted children need to grieve their birth parents at some point; that it is healthy.  Five feels too soon.  Too young to have to experience such sadness and loss.  Every mom knows how heart wrenching it is to watch your child hurt.  It's awful.  This grief in him is like a sinking rock in my stomach.  In a little corner of my brain, I know that this isn't anything I can take away, replace or fix.  It just has to happen.
     When I first became mother of four, I prayed for the day that I could say that I would throw myself in front of a car for all four of my children.  Reality is that that kind of love isn't immediate.  They don't tell you that in parenting classes.  But that day is here now.  It is bittersweet.
     As I write this, Etienne is curled up, his thumb in his mouth, sleeping next to me.  He wouldn't let me hold him, but he did let me rub his feet until he fell asleep.  And I will be here rubbing his feet when he wakes back up.
   

Community, III

     Last week was a RAD week.  I've come to expect that post fun, I will usually get hit with some added RAD stuff in the return to normal.  Our post spring break/Easter week was a little messier than usual.
     By Thursday, I was beat.  For a refresher, Etienne's reactive attachment stuff looks like lying, manipulating and a lot of destructive (property) habits.  I won't get into the details, if you are a new reader you can reread older posts.  I know that his reactions are out of insecurity and fear.  I know that my core prayer for him is that he know that he is loved unconditionally by 1.His Creator 2. His parents.  Doesn't mean it doesn't suck to google how to remove ink from porcelain.  I also know that "faking it" doesn't work for me.  What you see is what you get.  So I prayed a lot last week that I could remember to find the blessings in the mundane.  
     Last Thursday was a provider meeting day at my work (I am a CNM/women's NP) and these meetings are over the lunch hour. Alas, my mundane was becoming stressful.   I was not about to get a babysitter when I knew that E and Zeke too were needing a little more mama in the face than normal.  I packed large lunches (when given unlimited food, they can remain semi quiet because they are jamming it all in) and some play dough and we ventured in to my work.  It happened to be an education day and the doc in charge did a presentation Jeopardy style all the way down to the buzzers and "What is" format (playing games in meetings, I know!)  My anxiety went sky high at the site of 6 buzzers attached to 6 bright flashing lights.  Darn gadgets!  This is where God showed up.  Zeke snuggled next to another midwife across the room from me while our medical director gave Etienne a buzzer and began whispering the right answers in his ear.  An hour later, both boys had been loved on, heard more than they needed on prostate screenings and I had another lesson learned.  My work community met us where we were and it meant more to me than I can express.  In my role at work, I need to keep up barriers because of professionalism and my relationship with my staff.  I forget that God uses my transparency elsewhere in my life, He can use it here too.  So a lot of the docs and NPs didn't know before Thursday some of the baggage that comes with me, but they took us, our noise, our taking apart the furniture, button pressing, loud talking, no boundaries behavior in stride.  And I found my blessings in the mundane.