Adoption is Natural

We had a funny moment today at the supermarket. The girls and I had zipped over to pick up a few items before Josh's bus was due to arrive at home. To "help" the girls to be cooperative during the short time that I had to pick up Josh's meds at the grocery store pharmacy, I gave them sugary snacks. By the time we were at the check out counter, they were very energized, outgoing and . . . effervescent!

The cashier noticed that they were calling each other "sister" and asked if they were twins. When I said, "No, they're a year minus three days apart", she said, "Yeah, they don't really look much alike". I don't usually do this but I offered the information that, "in our family, two of our kids are adopted and one is biological". Upon hearing this, Hope started loudly spouting, "I'm adopted! I'm adopted!" Not to be outdone, Anna began loudly saying, "I'm not adopted! I'm from my Mommy's belly!" It spiraled quickly into a game of who could talk faster and louder and they soon erupted into a chorus of giggles.

Adoption is pretty normal in our family. We've worked hard for it not to be a strange, secret, or shameful thing. By now, it's just a fact of life. Hope has a birth mom that's not in our family and Anna's birth mom happens to be the same person as her mom. "We're all different!" is our family mantra. Everyone in our family has a different ethnic composition. Being different is normal.

Actually, since my husband and Josh are also adopted, the adoptees are the majority in our family. Anna has had her struggles with NOT being adopted and has voiced that she wishes that SHE had a birth mom outside of our family who took her out to ice cream. I've tried to tell her that I am both her mom and her birth mom and that I could take her out to ice cream. She informed me that I don't count. (So much for 27 hours of labor and then giving birth to a 10 pound 3 ounce little girl.) She also wishes that she had an adoption agency that gave her a special teddy bear like Hope and Joshua's agency did.

I'm sure that the struggles will change over time but I hope that they will be based on a foundation of safety and security in being loved.

My girls are getting to be better friends as the days go by. Sure, they still fight and whine but they are very close. I love to hear them talking after I have put them down for the night. I listen in as they debrief their days, talk about school, and even quietly sing songs together.

They pretend to have a secret language that only they can speak or understand. They make each other laugh A LOT.

I also love that Hope and Anna share a bond with their brother. Each in their own way, they have such a natural love for their brother. Anna is often concerned about Josh's safety. Hope gets very angry if we chastise him. If we are driving in the car without him, one of them will inevitably ask, "Where's Josh" or "When are we going to pick up Josh?" He is an important part of their world, even though he doesn't do a lot of the things that another older brother might do.

I love knowing, with absolute confidence, that God has brought our little brood together. We are held together by a bond that is stronger than blood.

Sometimes, Things Just Don't Work Out

Soccer Mom. Part of me disdains that term because it makes me think of being part of a "demographic" that politicians target. I want to say, yes, I drive a minivan and I live in suburban America but don't peg me as just a "soccer mom". I'm about more than just the activities of my kids, you know. Don't define me by what my kids do. Blah, blah, blah.

However, truth be told, part of me wants to join that club. Deep inside, I WISH that I had to schlep my 9 year old son to practices and games all around town. I want to be able to complain that he "is eating us out of house and home because he's so active all the time!" as some other moms do. It would be nice to have to get to know a whole team full of other boys who run around and get really dirty and sweaty together. I would bring healthy snacks and maybe have some of them over for playdates (or is it called just "hanging out" when you are 9 years old?).

Alas, team sports is a universe away from where my son lives. Josh is still a one to one kind of guy. He needs a parent or an aide with him for any activity. Otherwise, he could wander off or spend hours walking in circles or spiral into a long session of crying and screaming.

I had resigned to never get a chance to be a soccer mom until my girls were older. Until I heard about AYSO VIP soccer. It's a branch of AYSO that's specifically for kids with special needs. I checked out the website and it said that they have individual volunteers for each kid who needs a buddy. It was also very local and free. I decided to check it out.

The first session was awesome. All of the team members got free, bright green, matching uniforms. The older special needs kids have been doing this for many seasons and had a lot of enthusiasm and team identity. After warm ups, they began with a team cheer, "Ho, Ho, Ho Green Giants! Yeahhhhh!!! " Several kids with Downs Syndrome were ablaze with excitement and enthusiasm, bursting out in cheers at random times. One kid was completely blind but ran around chasing a ball with a beeper with a buddy with him at all times. It was actually pretty inspiring and beautiful.

Josh was not thrilled or motivated but he was willing to go with it. His vision is good enough to see a soccer ball, though probably not good enough to want to run around chasing it. He got paired with a volunteer lady with a crazy "can do" spirit who patiently got Joshua to kick that ball around quite a bit, even dribbling around cones for a bit. He whined the whole time and kept asking to "go for a ride in the car" but he did it.

However, the next times were not as good. He got paired with other buddies, sometimes kids who were not much older than he is, who did not "get" him or how to work with him. My husband works on Sundays so I had my wiggly girls along with me. At one point, I had taken my girls over to the playground on the other side of the park for a bit. When I returned, Josh was laying on his back, screaming and kicking anyone who tried to engage him or be near him. His buddy had clearly had it and looked very panicky. No one knew what to do.

It was at that moment, that I realized that soccer, even soccer for special needs kids, was not going to work out. Sometimes, things just don't work out. Kids don't fit into neat templates of what a lot of other kids do at their age. Activities are supposed to challenge but not torture our kids. The fact that I had done reams of paperwork to register for AYSO VIP soccer does not mean that he has to keep doing this thing that he clearly did not enjoy. My fantasy of being a normal soccer mom does not get to determine what Josh's activities will be. We tried it. It didn't work. That's ok.

I packed everyone up and took everyone to the closest coffee shop. The kids were thrilled to each get a cup of ice water and a straw. (Sometimes, it really doesn't take much, to make these people happy.) I splurged on a very large latte for myself. We went to another park to play in a more relaxed context. I took some pictures of my beloved boy in his cute soccer uniform, knowing that it would be the last time he wore it. Maybe we'll try Special Olympics track and field next.

Pasta Therapy

Tuesdays are the night that my husband regularly stays late at work. They are also the day when behavior issues in my kids usually spike. Today was no exception.

The day was long. The house was a mess. The needs were many. By the time I put them all to bed, I was unfathomably tired. Launching into the dishes, I realized that all I had eaten for dinner was a slice of melon, two pizza crusts and a random piece of candy that I found in a tupperware (don't ask). It's quite possible that I had stuffed other things into my mouth while moving at the speed of light around my kitchen but I couldn't remember.

I was about to smear some peanut butter (that was already out on the counter) onto a piece of bread and eat it while cleaning when, for some reason, I found myself chopping a random piece of garlic. I chopped a few more. Then I browned it in a pan with some olive oil and the smell of it was wonderful and soothing. Inspired, I cut up a few ripe tomatoes from my garden and put that in along with some basil and a half an onion. I rummaged around my freezer and found some frozen shrimp. I pulled out some cold pasta (some in the shape of wagon wheels and some in the shape of Scooby Doo) from the fridge and realized that I was actually cooking a meal for me; yes, just for me. Well, while we're at it, let's squeeze in some lemon juice, and a few spoonfuls of capers. I finished it off with salt, fresh ground pepper and some shredded parmesan.

Then, I did something strange and unusual. I poured a glass of blood orange soda and sat down at my dining table with my pasta and I ate it. I did not multi-task for those 10 minutes. I did not read the paper. I did not check my email. I did not contemplate my to-do list. I let the dirty dishes and Joshua's unfilled pill box just sit in my kitchen while I enjoyed the taste of my dinner. And while I just sat and ate this fabulous thing that I had cooked FOR MYSELF, I felt my own sense of value and self respect increase in my own soul.

Thinking that People are Idiots

A few days after writing my last blog post (about a very rude and out of touch man at Bed, Bath, and Beyond ) I had an interesting interaction with God. I was at a memorial service for a friend. We were in the middle of a deeply emotional and intense moment of musical worship when I felt that God brought to mind the interaction with the man with no verbal governor. Alongside the feelings of sadness and grief that I was already feeling, all of the feelings of anger and resentment toward that man (and the many people who have said stupid things about Josh) exploded inside me.

Ironically, we were singing "Amazing Grace" while I was reliving my thoughts and feelings of hating the stupid idiots that populate the planet and my life.

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me . . ."

("Oh yeah, and also that soccer coach who was rude to Josh, what an incredible jerk . . . ")

A few minutes later, I heard God say to me, "Have you ever said anything stupid?"

Of course, the answer is, Yes. I know in my heart that I say stupid things all the time. In fact, just a few minutes before, during the socializing time prior to the memorial, I had said something to an acquaintance that I deeply regretted. So, yes. I have and I feel bad about it.

Slowly, the incongruence of the moment stuck me. Here I am singing about grace, supposedly worshiping the God of grace, acknowledging the grace in my friend's life. I walk around as an undisciplined extrovert counting on the grace of God and people to cover all of the unthoughtful or inappropriate things that I might say. I think God was pointing out to me that it's the same grace that covers the stupid idiot things that random strangers say about Josh. Can you believe it? Grace covers insensitive things said about kids with special needs.

I thought back to that moment at Bed, Bath, and Beyond and imagined Grace being present. I pictured the face of the man who had said those things about Josh. Though the lens of grace I could see that he was not a stupid idiot. He was a person in need of grace, just like I am. I forgave him and felt a burden lifting from my heart.

" . . . was blind but now I see."

Bed, Bath and Beyond

Tonight I took Josh on a quick errand to Bed, Bath, and Beyond. It was going quite well since there were no other children there, including his sisters. We were in line to pay for my item when Josh started happily nuzzling a big pile of pillows that were near the check out counter.

He was incredibly happy, giggling, and having a full sensory experience of the pillows when I hear someone behind me say, "What is wrong with this child?" I turn around to see a middle aged man standing there with his college aged son. Without skipping a beat, and with out being mean, I simply said, "He has autism." Just three words. There could have been so many.

The man went into full on verbal backtracking mode, rambling about how God has a special blessing for these kids sometimes and that he has a cousin who has a child with polio and that child is the most loving child . . .

I listened for 2-3 long minutes. At the end of 3 eternal minutes, everyone in line was clearly mortified. The college aged son found a reason to move elsewhere in the store. I paid for my item, said goodbye to the man and walked out of the store.

Can someone explain to me why a person would say, out loud, "What is wrong with this child?" right behind that child's mother? Even if there was nothing "wrong" with my child, I would be so offended. What is wrong with my child? What is wrong with people out there?

A Perfect Summer Day

This summer has been a tough one for Joshua and his Mama. Top 5 things that Joshua has been up to that has driven his mom crazy are:

1. So much crying for apparent reasons and no apparent reason

2. Eating lots of non-food items like rubber stamps, video tape (see previous post), toilet paper, entire pages of beloved books. He has also gotten into eating pseudo-food items that are still completely inappropriate like previously chewed gum that has been stuck to the side of a public garbage can. I'm not kidding.

3. Demanding random videos that I rented from the library many months ago. He would ask for them over and over again for hours. "Want Baby Galileo. Want Baby Galileo. Want Baby Galileo"

4. Pouring liquids into strange places (like my coffee into his toy boxes in his room). Pouring water onto floors, etc.

5. Intentionally peeing on the floor (or onto piles of clothes) in his room. This one made me the most crazy. One time he peed on a TV/VCR that was on. He could have electrocuted himself! We were way beyond this in his potty training journey but suddenly, he went way backward with this behavior.

So, yes. Difficult summer.

But I have to tell you about one day that was wonderful.

A few weeks ago, we were at a friend's cabin in the mountains for a week. One day, we rented a boat and spent the good part of a day on a lake. We explored various places around the lake, went hiking, and soaked up the glorious sun.

Of course, I was worried about how Josh would be. There's not really many places to escape if he's having a hard time on a boat. But Josh loved it. The hum and vibrations of the motor, the sound of the water, the slightly cool breeze; these things were pure sensory pleasure for Josh.

A friend, the dad of the other family who was with us, decided that this was the day to introduce Josh to hiking. Josh did shockingly well with it. We couldn't believe how hard he worked to climb up rocks and walk up hills. Josh even jumped off of a rock into the lake (with some help). He swam. He ate watermelon quietly. He even told me when he needed to go to the bathroom.

And, as everyone knows, if Josh is happy, Mom is happy. I was so happy. How I want this kid to be happy. . . from the bottom of my soul. I know that I can't control this. I have little power to make this happen. But when it does, it's so wonderful. A professor of mine once told me that "a shared joy is a double joy". I want to share with the world about one perfect summer day!

Tantrum Time at Ikea

The other day I got confident and took all three kids on errands. We did Nordstrom Rack and Home Depot beautifully. There was a strong breeze out where we were so walking along the parking lot feeling the wind was delightful to Josh. It was strange moment of consistent obedience and happiness to be with each other. So I thought, why not? Let's go to Ikea as well. It was just across the street, we've got plenty of time left in the afternoon, and my girls love the childwatch there.

Things continued to go well. The girls were quickly dropped off at the childcare area and I attempted to go into the main showcase area to pick up one small item that I had meaning to get all summer long. Alas, it was not meant to be.

The high pitched sound of babies or young children crying or screeching is like kryptonite to my auditorily sensitive, autistic son. For some reason, the store was teeming with unhappy small children. (Later, I found out that the restaurant was having free meals for kids). Josh's body tightened up immediately. He held my hand with an iron grip. After a few minutes, he couldn't stand it anymore. He had to do what he does to defend himself and to show his great displeasure. Josh started screaming.

Now sometimes when Josh screams, it's just a very loud, "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh", often accompanied by big tears and hitting himself on his head. At other times, Josh seems to feel that he wants to use words to yell or scream. He does not choose to use words that are specific or appropriate to the situation like, "I hate this!" or "Make them stop!" We have even tried to get him to use his words when screaming, feeding him lines like, "I don't like that noise!" However, it seems easier to his mostly non-verbal brain to just pick a random phrase from his memory and scream that phrase. They are usually phrases from songs since Josh's world and brain seem to be filled with songs and music. More than once, Josh has had screaming tantrums using worship songs like, "LORD, I LIFT YOUR NAME ON HIGHHHHHHHHHH!" It's pretty amusing, except that you are being tortured by his screaming.

This day, Josh chose to use words from a song that he must have heard on the radio (yes, I've been turning on the radio for him in the car lately because I've been feeling like if I have to listen to the Wiggles CD one more time, I might have to shoot myself.) I turn the front speakers in my van off so I can barely hear the music and Josh can get all of the back speakers to himself. SO, here we are at Ikea, with a million people around us and Josh is screaming, at the top of his lungs, "I DIDN'T MEAN TO TURN YOU ON!!!! I DIDN'T MEAN TO TURN YOU ON!!!! I DIDN'T MEAN TO TURN YOU ON!!!!" . . . over and over again, with tears and head hitting.

And the thing about Ikea is that they do this evil thing where once you are in the bowels of the stores, you have to walk, like, a mile to get out. They make you walk through the maze of the entire showroom in order to leave. It's like casinos in Las Vegas. There are no windows or easy exits. You are simply immersed in the reality of cheap furniture. This is wonderful if you are there to reimagine your kitchen. It's horrible if you are with a screaming child who is channeling a very upset Robert Palmer.

Also, most of the time, when Josh is upset in public, most people usually avert their attention out of kindness toward me. Sometimes people give me knowing smiles in a vague sense of support or compassion. Not this time. It seemed that everyone just stopped and stared. They were like a whole bunch of prairie dogs who had heard a strange noise and needed to pay attention for their own survival or something. I felt like I was in hell.

The next morning, as I was telling my husband about the experience, I had a good laugh. You know that mortified but hilarious belly laugh that comes from loving your kids but also valuing your own dignity. Ah, but parenting does not always allow dignity, now does it? At least in sharing about such mortifying experiences in good community, one can be restored and even healed.