The journey of finding our family

Merry Fing Happy Holidays December 24, 2008

Who knew the holidays would suck with a kid in foster care?

oh that’s right. I did. Seeing as I used to be a social worker for kids in foster care, and used to spend much time preparing other foster parents for this…

so I guess, who knew I would forget everything i knew when it came to my own house?

That Jolly Time of Year December 21, 2008

Ah, the holidays. 

The days that are supposed to be the happiest time of year. Yet, it seems like we are all stressed out, anxious, sad, and unhappy at this time of year. 

This year I am swinging wildly between loving the time of year and wanting to cry. 

On my daughter’s part, I think she’s feeling the same. The stress and anxiety is clearly getting to her. She is arguing more than she has in a long time. She is anxious and tense. And then she has moments when she is smiling, laughing, and doing great. 

She’s not talking about it, but I know she is missing her family. I can’t imagine it being this time of year and not seeing or talking to your family. I really can’t. She doesn’t say much, but I know it’s on her mind. I wish I could take away that hurt. I wish that we could be her family, that we could be enough. I don’t take it personally that we are not- it’s not personal. It’s a fact of our situation, our relationship. We are good, and we help to heal some of the hurts, but we are not and never will be enough. 

Christmas activities are hard. She skipped out on picking out the tree. She “helped” decorate the tree by taking some pictures, being very quiet, and opting out of putting ornaments on the tree. Which I understood. Who wants to put someone else’s ornaments on a tree? What does it feel like not to have any of your own 3 year old crafts that your mom insists on putting on the tree every year? What is it like to look through ornaments and not have any attachment or history to any of them? For me, that is what ornaments have always been. They tell stories. So and so gave it to me, this marks a memory in our life, this was his ornament passed on down to me. Not having ornaments is like not having a history, in some sense. 

But I know she’s trying. She stayed with us while we put them up. She hung in there with minimal attitude. She made fun of the tree. She’s pushing through it in her own way, and I couldn’t be more proud. Maybe I could take a page from her book. 

This holiday is hard for me, too. It’s only the second year without my dad and grandma. And I just wasn’t expecting it to hit. I didn’t realize it would be hard, and make me sad too. I miss them. I am dreading Christmas Eve, because we always spent it with my dad. I cried on my birthday (a few weeks ago) because my grandma always called and sang to me, first thing in the morning. She wasn’t there to do that this year. I’m missing the people in my life who are gone. 

I’m also grieving, in a way. I want this year to be my daughter’s best or favorite Christmas. And apparently I think gift buying is the way to do that. Instead, I need to be respectful of her and remember where she is. But part of me is sad for me, too. For not having a child who can be excited about this time of year. Instead of having someone to remind me how exciting this all is, my baby reminds me of the sad parts. It’s a hard combination. We grieve together, except she has no idea that we do. 

We’ll get through it, in one piece. And see what the year brings us.

Daughter November 18, 2008

Lately I’ve been trying to figure out how to explain our relationship. 

Mine and my daughter’s, that is. She’s not actually my daughter, not in the truest sense of the word. While I am “my mom” to her, I am not “mom” to her. She didn’t grow up with me. I think the closest thing I am, in her mind, is a big sister who’s way stricter than any sister would be. 

But to me, she is my daughter. The tricky thing is, until if and when she is ready, I can’t let her know this. I have handed her my heart in the theme of “When you are a parent you watch your heart go walking around in someone else’s body” or some other similarly cheesy quote. I watch my heart swell, pull away, and come back depending on the week, day, minute. 

She attaches to her friends in other ways. She can tell them she loves them, she will fight to the death with us if she thinks she is protecting a friend. Sometimes this is about people she has met for one day. Sometimes I get upset. I wonder why we, who have given her our home, family, life, time, hearts… why we mean so little to her. I have to remember that the more we mean to her, the more she will pull away. 

It is scary to her to love. To her, true love- the kind you feel for parents, children, siblings, true friends- true love means pain, abuse, hurt, fear. So the more she feels attached to us, the closer she gets to loving us or trusting us… loving or trusting me… the scarier this is for her. The more she pushes me away. 

She is like a yo-yo. She will often spend a few days on top of me, telling me everything that goes on, chatting, laughing. She will let me in to who she is, as much as she can. When that gets scary, she pulls away. I will get one word answers from her. She spends all her time in her room. I’m a mean nuisance who can do no right. But then, if I give her the time and space she needs, she comes back. 

I hope one day she can balance out. I hope she can trust and rely on our relationship. I hope she can begin to understand what it means that she’s walking around with my heart in her hands. I hope that she sees I would do anything for her, that the decisions I make are not to torture her but are in place because I care about what I feel is best for her. I hope that she can see how he cares for her, how her pushing him away hurts him. I hope she can understand we only want to be what other people have never been able to be: adults you can trust, the closest thing she may have to parents. She has biological family, we may be the closest she has to real family. The meaning of which… people who don’t turn their back on you. Who make decisions, even when hard, because they are better for you. People who will sacrifice for themselves for what is good for you. 

Her biological sister has been wanting to come visit. That is a post that requires it’s own space, because my feelings about that are many and complex. But it sums up how I feel about her: wanting the best for her, scared to make the wrong call, worried in a corner of my mind about how this will affect her, us, our family. 

I’ve never had a baby, she’s the closest I’ve got. A girl who is 16, who has a family, a history, biology all her own separate from mine. Yet, she is still my baby. My baby who I don’t get to tell just how big the love I have for her is. Because it is so scary for her, I try to let my actions speak to it. I try to tell her every day I love her more than her being mad at me, love her more than she will ever love some guy, love her more than she’ll probably ever know. I don’t get to be her mom, but she is still my daughter.

Day Eleven November 11, 2008

I’m really rocking out on NaBloPoMo. No, really, I am. Maybe I need to find another time of day to write? Because clearly before bed is not working out for me. 

Oh well. That’s not what you came to hear. 

I’m talking about expectations here. Growing up, we all ate dinner at the table every night. No exceptions unless you had a fever and couldn’t get out of bed. That’s how I was raised, that’s what we did. 

My husband and I used to fight. I’d get mad if he didn’t sit down and eat dinner. Or if we went out and he didn’t want to eat. It is not a concept I understand, this one of skipping meals or eating by yourself. I’d almost always rather eat with people. Granted, I’m not a solitary person to begin with. So it only follows logically that I like people around to share company with when I’m eating. 

My daughter is up and down. Sometimes she will go weeks eating with us. Other times she will do anything to get out of eating dinner with us. She’ll ask to eat in her room, she’ll eat out with friends, or she will decide she’s not hungry. 

Tonight, after a weekend away and two days with friends, she came home. I was looking forward to everyone eating together. It hasn’t been the greatest weekend and I just wanted some time with my family. She came home, did her chores, and then announced (after her special mashed potatoes had been cooked) that she wasn’t hungry. 

I almost ended up in tears. My husband talked me down, reminding me she doesn’t work like I do and she doesn’t sit and eat meals regularly, nor does she have a strong inclination to do things with us as a family. Part of this is her being sixteen, part of it, I think, is her being her. Family time is intense for her, and sometimes she does better with less. 

But as someone who loves family and family time, who married a loner, and has a kid who needs her own time… sometimes it makes me sad. Even worse, sometimes I take it personally. As in, clearly no one wants to eat dinner with me. It must be about me, and not them. 

The expectation for me is that you eat as a family. The way it’s changed is that we still all eat, and we are a family, but we don’t always eat as a family. And that might be ok.

Day Nine November 9, 2008

NaBloPoMo: Fail

I forgot yesterday. The evening ended up being… kind of crappy, and I just forgot to blog. 

Today, my brand new, pretty, awesome iMac had to go back to the Apple store. The USB ports aren’t recognizing my camera, which is at best horrible. I ended up in tears at the Apple store at the prospect of losing my pretty pretty computer for two days. They were tears of frustration. My husband talked me off the ledge, but it honestly took him a little while. At the end of the day, it’s still better than the 4-6 weeks we’ve had to wait in the past for computers to come back to us. 

So, yeah, daily blogging and iMac: FAIL.

Day Seven November 7, 2008

Day Seven was better than day six. They’re getting there.

She has a new boyfriend. I went to drop her off at her godmother’s for the weekend, and I gave her a hug and kiss goodbye. Then she kissed her boyfriend goodbye and got in the car. I then went to give her another hug, and she yelled “You don’t get the last kiss!” 

Oh, yes I do. 

We were in the car on the way to drop her off. We were playing around, and I told her I loved her almost all of the time. She corrected me, and said “No, you love me all of the time.” 

Yes, I do.

Day Six November 6, 2008

Is it day seven yet?

Day Five November 5, 2008

Well, we came close to my dream of one day baking cookies side by side with my daughter. She wanted to make cookies for her boyfriend, but I am the baker in the family. I told her she had to help me. 

She unwrapped the Hershey's Kisses. Very Big Help.

I love to bake. It’s just… something that is relaxing for me. I love feeding my family, and I’m terrible at cooking but a decent baker. (It’s because baking is so precise and cooking is… not. I like precise.) I used to ask her if she wanted me to bake something. She would always say no. She would rarely ate anything I baked. 

So even though I would have loved for her to help, that she asked me to bake something, then proceeded to love eating what I had made… and even though she is taking all the credit for baking cookies for her boyfriend… I will take it. She asked, I baked. It’s one little way I can show her I love her, and I’m going to be there for her. I know- it sounds crazy. But more often than not it’s too hard for her to hear that. So I have to show her. 

So I bake. 

She also ate many cookies. Offered me one and when I turned it down she took another one, and said she was eating mine.

Day Four November 4, 2008

Election day, 2008

Obama vs. Palin

Er, I mean… Obama v McCain, Biden v Palin. 

Before I went to bed last night I said to my husband that tomorrow is a big day for our country. No matter what, it’s historical. My mom said to me tonight that when you are not around for historical events (she was referring to the shooting of JFK) that you don’t get that perspective. I’m so proud and excited to be part of this historical event. To say that I voted in the race that gave our country either it’s first black President or first female Vice President… something to be proud of. 

I stood in line for an hour this morning. I’m sure people stood in much longer lines. But last time I voted it was under ten minutes. I’m proud of the hour I spent in line. It meant that people were out there, voting. That they care and are making their voices heard. 

My mom asked me today why I voted the way I did. Suffice it to say our political views are vastly opposite. I know the reasons in my head, but I am and have always been bad at articulating them. I know what my gut tells me about who I want leading this country, who I do not, and why. And it’s not based on who’s pretty, or not, etc. 

I’m proud of this country. No matter which way this election goes, I am proud to have been part of a historic day in our country. Proud to be able to remind my daughter why today is history-making, why it’s important. Proud that she’s growing into an adult in a country where we are finally starting to open doors to people whom they have been shut to for a very, very long time. 

No matter what, go us.

Day Three November 3, 2008

It’s the small moments, really. The very, very small moments that get you through the day when you get scared, or frustrated, or worried. 

I took this quiz today. Turns out I’m a Marilyn. The assessment of my parenting style? I worry more than others, have a hard time letting my children become independent… and I thought this was because I started with a teen in foster care. Turns out it’s because I’m a Marilyn. 

Something I’ve had to work hard at while parenting our daughter is to let things go. I do like a bit of control, as does my husband, as does my daughter. This can make for some rough moments in the household. Initially I kind of had it in my head that there was no way she was getting any of the control, we had to have it all, we are the parents, after all. Back in the beginning I didn’t realize how backwards that statement is. As parents, we have the illusion of control. Even when you have children the traditional, way, though; there is loss of control that is inherent with raising children. 

For her, showering has been a constant source of contention between us. Crazy me thinks she should shower every day. She feels like… why shower, when I can be dirty? (Don’t get me wrong, please. She’s a pretty clean and well-groomed kid. She’s just averse to showering if she has something better to do. Like, sleep. Or talk on the cell phone. Or… lay around.) We finally seem to have struck a good compromise. She was home most of the weekend this past weekend, and started getting just the tiniest bit testy last night. She fought me on taking her shower. 

It was that moment. Instead of reacting, I took my time and thought about how I wanted to handle it. How I wanted to approach this situation. Now, this worked this time but next time will likely not work. But this time, instead of threatening consequences, instead of yelling, I heard her and her reasoning, and then reminded her that I had asked her to do it. And then I walked out. 

(and subsequently took my lack of control out on my husband, who was graceful under fire, but it wasn’t my prettiest moment with him.)

She took the damn shower, though. Without it ruining all of our nights. 

And that one, stupid, teeny battle felt like victory- not because I won, or because I was in control. No, because it felt like a joint effort on all of our parts to function as a family and hear each other out. Even when we didn’t want to. 

That was my small moment.