Parenting

A True Parenting Conversation

/ Dawn Kasal-Finley / 3 Comments

Bill: Zoë pooped on the potty by herself today.

Me: Really?

Bill: Yeah she was hiding and I suggested she go on the potty and and she just kept yelling at me “don’t bother me.”

Me:  So then she came to get you?

Bill:  She walked out naked from the bathroom and I asked her where her pull-up was and she said she threw it away and went on the potty.

Me:  Good.

Bill:  I didn’t actually see her do it though. (a bit hesitant and skeptical maybe)

Me: Did you look in the trash can to see if her pull-up was full of crap?

Bill:  Yeah and it wasn’t.  I guess it could have fallen out somewhere on the floor when she took her pull-up off.  I didn’t really look around.

So, there could be a random pile of crap somewhere in the house.  I do highly doubt it, as Zoë is really good about telling on herself.  Looks like we might be getting closer to the whole no more pull-up thing.

Sometimes Being The Parent Sucks

/ Dawn Kasal-Finley / 5 Comments

There are so many things that get omitted from the parenting brochure.  I’m sure those omission are unintentional (or there just isn’t enough space to put all the crappy stuff so they don’t include any–just to be fair).  I don’t know if I wrote about this last year–I thought I did but I can’t find it anywhere.  There were a few instances last year at school with one student around–how do I say this–curiosity.  That’s a simple way of putting it.  A couple of those instances also involved Noah.  We talked a great deal with Noah about those issues and what is appropriate behavior and what isn’t.  Not that this important (to me it is), but the curiosity was not initiated by Noah–Yeah I’m a bad parent but I do take some comfort in knowing that it wasn’t my kid’s idea.

I thought we had moved past this, but yesterday I get pulled aside at pick-up and told about another event.  I was angry, hurt, sad, and so confused.  I know that it is natural to be curious.  I am less worried about the being curious than I am my son’s behavior of not telling his friends no.  This has been a bit of an issue for Noah.  He has these great social skills and is very kind, helpful and friendly.  The problem is that he is a bit of a follower.  By follower I mean that he thinks it isn’t being a good friend if he doesn’t do what another friend wants to–fight, say something mean, be slightly inappropriate.  This worries me that he isn’t to the place where is will stand up and make the decision for himself.  He tells us everything and I don’t want that to change, so we don’t get angry at him or punish him in any significant way when he is honest with us.  I don’t want him to think he can’t tell us.  That openness is more important to me than punishing him.

He’ll tell us that he did something and I’ll say you didn’t have to do that and he’ll say “yeah, X said to.”  I’ll say that you are your own boss and you don’t have to and he’ll reply, “but he’s my friend.”  I am scared, because if he is this easily influenced now, what happens when X wants to steal a car or rob a bank or something way worse?

I am working with his teachers and have requested that they encourage Noah to make better friend choices and that they also reinforce that being a good friend doesn’t mean doing anything a friend suggests.  It is hard because we tell him to do what his friends want in some ways–I know he is getting mixed messages and doesn’t quite know how to process them all–when he talked about how S was mad at him because he wanted to play superheroes and she wanted to play picnic and I told him that sometimes you should play what S wants to because that is what friends do.  Then I tell him it isn’t what friends do.

I take some small solace in his knowing what he did was wrong and that he shouldn’t do it.  I just don’t know.  I don’t want him playing with this boy anymore.  This boy was a child I had hoped wouldn’t be returning to school.  I am worried for my son and I feel so helpless.

On a brighter note.  Zoë is absolutely hysterical.  We went for a walk around the block–Noah rode his bike and Zoë pushed her stroller.  She was running on the side walk pushing the stroller (because she still very rarely actually walks) and asked if she could run in the grass, I said sure–run where ever.  She starts to run in the grass.  Stops and declares, “This is too grassery for running.”  It was just the laugh I needed.  So, in case you needed to know–grass is too grassery for running while pushing a stroller.

Totally Breaking My Heart

/ Dawn Kasal-Finley / 2 Comments

For the past week or so Noah has been crying when I leave him at the sitters.  This is totally unusual behavior for Noah.  This isn’t to say he hasn’t been clinging before and a bit of a protester when it is time for me to leave–but even at home he’s been a bit needy and when I leave for a meeting or something else, he’s clingy and it breaks my hear to see his lip quiver and have him say while trying to hold back tears “Mommy, I want you.”

It is so hard.  I don’t know what is happening?  I know the sitters is fine and he has fun.  By the time I pick him up he is happy to see me but is usually playing just fine and is totally happy.  It is so hard.  Because I want to just scoop him up and bring him to work with me and just love him.  These days go by so quick.  I need to remember to enjoy the time we have together more and I have been making a concerted effort of spending quality time with him while increasing the quantity of time we spend together as well.

I love that he needs me and wants to be with me, but it is a departure from his usually outgoing behavior.  Or am I just now recognizing it?  I hope not.  This morning was the hardest, as you could see he was trying to hold back the tears and his little lip was quivering.  I just hugged him so tight and I didn’t want to let go.  Letting go is so hard.  It’s moments like this that make me question working.  I know that I need to work, but can it be about me?  I know it is best for my family that I work and that what is best for me is often best for the family.  I am a better mom.

I think that maybe this behavior is his way of expressing his feelings of insecurity.  He is growing up–he’ll be in a new class at school in the fall–most of the kids are kids he was in class with last year and he’ll have new teachers.  He knows the teachers and is excited but it bet there is some degree of uncertainty as well.

I feel bad leaving him at the sitters and I feel bad that I feel bad because I know he has fun.  Motherhood is awesome but sometimes being the parent Sucks.

Mine, Mine, Mine

/ Dawn Kasal-Finley / Leave a comment

Noah is a pretty smart kid.  He is also very stubborn and a bit of a know-it-all.  Okay, maybe not a bit.  He gets that from his dad.  Last school year, we had an incident with another student at school who happened to have the same gloves as Noah.  Noah’s were at home, but he saw those Spiderman gloves and it was on.  Those were his and you weren’t going to convince him otherwise.  His teachers loved him that they believed him and the poor other kids was reduced to tears and sadness that Noah had basically “stolen” his gloves.  When I got to school to pick Noah up, I cleared that air and both the teacher and Noah felt bad and apologized to the other kid.  I felt bad, but this is all a learning experience.  I tried really hard from then on to make sure that Noah’s stuff was clearly marked–with either his name or a big N–there weren’t any other kids in his class with a name that started with N.

Can you see where this is going?  Well, I certainly didn’t.  Noah is participating in the summer camp program at his school.  One of the other kids is Nicholas.  Yes an N.  I picked Noah up yesterday and everything was cool.  We got home and Noah innocently asked me:

“Mom, where is my cars backpack?”

“On the chair by the door.”

“Oh.  Sandy was right and I was wrong.”

“About what?”

“Nicholas has the same backpack and I thought it was mine.  I took it from him.”

“What happened?”

“Sandy said it was Nicholas’.  Sophie took it out of his cubby and put it in mine.  I thought it was mine.”

“Why did you think it was yours?  Did it have your name on it?”

“It had an N on it.”

“Nicholas starts with an N too.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

So, I had to show him his back pack and how it had his full name written on it.  When I dropped him off today–the other counselor was there and told me he was so distraught that he was certain it was his (because of the N) and that Nicholas had stolen it from him.  He plans to apologize to Nicholas again today and to remember that if it doesn’t say NOAH then it isn’t his.

A Draft

/ Dawn Kasal-Finley / 3 Comments

This National Writing Project institute is intensive.  It is amazing but intense.  I haven’t written creatively for a very long time.  It is certainly what I enjoy writing the most but it is something I haven’t written in a long while.  Who has the time to write for oneself in an honest and true way when you are also writing research articles and papers?  I certainly didn’t.  I never thought much about how my writing was not longer what I needed it to be.  What it use to be.  I also didn’t now I had so much I needed to say and needed to write about my children’s adoptions.  I didn’t know I had unresolved feelings.  I didn’t know I wasn’t done with that.  Not that I am ever done with adoption.  It is part of my life daily.  We write everyday at the institute.  We write almost all day.  We write many different ways and many things have come out that I didn’t realize I wanted to write about.  I am enjoying it–but it is emotionally exhausting.  It is scary.

Here is a draft:  Please be kind…(it has not been proofread or edited in any way) Just a first draft

P2 Draft

America

For a moment I knew what they felt.  Just a fleeting moment compared to the lifetime they will carry that feeling deep in their heart.  A feeling that must overtake them at moments when they see others with their children.  A feeling that paralyzes.  A feeling that overtakes.  A feeling that cannot be run from.  A feeling that defines.

There are experiences and moments that happen to each of us.  Experiences that shape us and help to define who we are.  Experiences that we carry in battered old suitcases and transport from one phase of our lives to another.  Experiences that inform our perceptions—perceptions that become our reality.

The phone rang, happily distracting me from my last minute preparations.  I looked at the caller id and my heart stopped.  Literally stopped beating life into me.  I couldn’t move.  I was frozen and my thoughts flew rampant in my head.  It was our adoption agency.  We were scheduled to leave for Ethiopia in 24 hours.  There is nothing about this phone call that could be good.  Nothing.  My thoughts quickly conjure up Allison and her family.  They received a call less than a week before they were to travel.  A call that no parent ever wants to get—least of all a family who had never gotten to hold their baby.  Their son had died in his sleep.  He had died alone—never feeling the love of his American family.  They had lost their son alone—never touching his sweet face.

“Hello.”

“Dawn?”

“Yes…” I said tentatively not wanting to admit it was me.  If it wasn’t me there could be no bad news.

“This is Susan from AAI.”

“Hi Susan.”

“We’re calling because Hojawaka was taken to the hospital last night and won’t be ready for travel home for another week.”

My heart started to beat and pump life and fear back into me.  He was in a hospital.  In Ethiopia.  He wasn’t at Children’s Hospital or even a modern hospital—no he was in a hospital in one of the poorest nations in the world and one where many children don’t live to see their 5th birthday.  How sick was he?  Why was he there?  When would he be released?  These were questions that Susan couldn’t answer—it was now night in Ethiopia and power, phone and internet connections were not reliable.  She told me all that she new.  He was sick and in the hospital.  I was scared.

We couldn’t postpone our trip—my brother was already in route and my mother-in-law was leaving the next day.  We were leaving the next day—I could not wait.  My baby needed me and I need him.  I needed to see and hold him, even if only just once.

Ethiopia

It is dark when we arrived, but the poverty and developing nature of the country is visible even at 2 in the morning.  We are tired from travelling but too excited to go to bed.  I’ve been up and traveling for 24 hours but sleep is the furthest thing from my mind. I am anxious—I am hoping to meet my son in a matter of hours.  I do not know if he is back from the hospital or when I’ll get to see him.  I don’t know his condition.  I try not to think of these things.  I think happy thoughts.  I talk about feeding him and dressing him as I unpack his things and get everything ready for him.  I have to think positively.  It is the only option.

Waiting for Gail to come pick us up is scary.  I don’t know what to bring.  I don’t have any information.  I just know that Gail is coming and will be taking us to Layla.  There are two other families there with us who are also meeting their babies. It is clear when Gail comes that she is not expecting all of us.  She knows more than I do.  I wish I would not have been ready to go.  I wish I would have stayed at the hotel.

We arrive at Layla.  Hojawaka isn’t there.  He is still in the hospital.  My heart sinks.  The pain is overwhelming.  I try to be happy for the other families as they receive their babies and hold them.  I am crying on the inside, but don’t want to mar their beautiful moment.  We wait for what seems an eternity.  I am lonely.  I feel empty.  Is this how she felt when she walked away from him?  Is this how she felt when she left her in the middle of the street?  I can feel their emptiness.  It’s just a flash.  But it is the same even though it comes from two very different places.

He finally comes.  I get a glimpse of him and he is whisked away.  He needs to be changed.  They want to give him to me clean—I don’t care.  I just want him now.  I scream on the inside.  But I respect them—these women who have cared for him and loved him for the past 3 months.  Is this how they feel—helpless?  Powerless? As someone else cares for their babies?  It must be.  I know if only for a moment—I will never forget.  It is a moment in time that we share.  It brings us together—if only for an instant.

I hold him.  I look at him.  I worry.  I am happy and sad at the same time.  He won’t eat.  He is sick.  So sick.  He is despondent.  He is…Is he going to make it?  Is this the last time I will hold him?  Is this the only chance I’ll have to show him I love him?  How those women must feel giving up their babies after they have held them.  What a horrible feeling.  What a courageous thing to do.  Surrendering your child.  Surrendering your love.  Surrendering yourself.

Mine is a happy story.  One of joy.  He recovered and with the love of his parents has flourished.  Theirs is a sad story.  One of loss and what ifs.  One of holes and emptiness.   A story of wonder.  A story of courage. A story of bravery.  A story that must live.  A story I must tell my children.

A story I can tell because it is also mine.  For a moment—a split second—I felt what I imagine they must have. In the end, I have to be three mothers.  In the end, I must honor them.  I must honor us all.