Expecto Patronum

Legal things are quiet and legal-y. Hopefully soon I will have news I can post here.

He lost some screen time after making a few less than stellar choices (nothing dangerous or horrible - age appropriate rule testing). In attempt to alleviate the boredom, he rediscovered the Tinkertoys that have sat untouched in his closet for a full six months. He built an American ninja warrior course, became weary of it, and began brandishing one of the longest Tinkertoy sticks as what I first thought was a sword.

Suddenly, holding it in front of him, he shouts, "EXPECTO PATRONUUUUUUM!

"Mom, you know how you have to have a happy thought for that to work?"
"Yep..."
"Mine is you guys adopting me."

Firsts.

It's been forever. It wasn't for lack of things to say... I just can't legally say them.

While I was away here, the TPR (termination of parental rights) was granted. Lucas is now in the sole legal and physical custody of the county, with some decision making rights given to us by the judge.

His birthday is coming up, too. I thought he would have a gift list a mile long, but he doesn't. There were a couple of things that he has asked for. What he is really excited about is the cake.

He is turning ten and has never had a birthday cake.

I told this to my mother, and she is on the job.

These things are so sacred to her that it would not surprise me if the woman comes out with a tiered cake tomorrow with Link working his way up the levels to save Princess Zelda at the top.

My sister and her family met us at the trampoline park. Her first born is a couple years younger than Lucas. They've met only a couple times because they live two hours from us. My parents, my sister's family, Lucas, and I went to dinner afterward. On the way home, he announced it had been pretty much the best day of his life.

He is tossing and turning, unable to sleep in anticipation of tomorrow. I'm heading up to read to him in hopes that it will calm his head.

"Mom, I used to think that you were mad at me a lot, but now I realize that's just your face."

Um

thanks?

The Differences.

Our dentist, whom we pay out of pocket for Lucas, emphatically told us that Lucas needs to be evaluated for early orthodontic intervention because of the condition of his teeth.

We made an appointment at the only orthodontist within 50 miles that takes the "insurance" provided to foster children by the state. A week later, we went in.  They took x-rays that they did not need to take only to pat me on the head and tell me that with cases like this, they like to wait until the kids are older, and then they can do it all at once. It will be easier and less of a nuisance to him, he said.

Let's review that. Cases like this.

That would be cases like this, for which the state doesn't ever actually pay for stage 1 care (in which a child's permanent teeth have not yet forced out all of the baby teeth).  Charity cases. Cases in which they expect to have no follow through and no payment.

I left feeling too stunned to even react.

We scheduled an appointment with another orthodontist in the area. As suspected, they do not even submit to the insurance provided for foster children. I let the receptionist know that regardless of what the state does or does not do, we are providing for this child and will pay out of pocket if necessary.

The orthodontist looks at the existing x-rays provided by our primary dentist, looks in Lucas's mouth and immediately identifies exactly what has been causing him pain. He explains the process of palate expansion using a retainer and how it will be especially helpful for Lucas because it will also prevent the bruising caused by his bottom teeth due to overbite and may ease nighttime grinding. They explain the financials, take molds and photos, and we are on our way.

I will not publicly call out by name the first orthodontic office for its callous treatment. I will only say that at the second, Lucas was treated like a child rather than a liability or a debt.

I don't know at whom I should be the most pissed - the professionals who treat my kid like a thorn, or the state that has created a system in which professionals who try to work with the system never actually get paid. Both? The whole thing sucks. I'm thankful that at least most of it sails right over Lucas's head.

I'm also thankful that, when they are patronizing and plastic-faced, I have the self control to not completely flip out. The only way to keep things like this from affecting Lucas are for him to never be filled in on the fact that they're happening.

He deserves better.

Wanderings.

My wife took Lucas and my daughter to the amusement park today. He is a few months shy of ten years old and has never been to one.

We have a permanency hearing tomorrow. I don't expect anything to go awry, but my stomach flops every single time we have to step into a courtroom. I'm hoping that maybe we will leave with a date for a Termination of Parental Rights hearing. Thirty days from whenever that happens, we can adopt.

I'm focusing on breathing and trying not to stress. He stresses enough for all of us, and freaking him out further is not an option.

Week 12

Week 12.

We must be doing something right.

Lucas has only a couple daily chores. One of them is taking the recyclables out to the large bin on the driveway whenever he sees that a few have accumulated. Tonight, as my wife did her magical making dinner thing, he took two glass jars and headed for the door.

She and I froze at the sound of breaking glass. After a moment of frozen shock (I feel like I always react slowly in those moments), I bolted downstairs.

I got there as he was reaching for a large shard. I told him to step back, and he did so without argument. He said it was wet from rinsing it off, and it just slipped through his hands.

It didn't strike me until a few minutes later that he was so calm. He didn't cower, didn't rush into a panicked explanation. He didn't act like he expected to be hit or screamed at.

The road is bumpy, but we must be doing something right.

Late Bloomer.

My wife called from Home Depot back in April to tell me that Lucas and his sister asked if they could each pick out a rosebush.

"The one he picked is called 'Dream Come True,'" she said.

My brain immediately flew to all of my idiosyncratic life metaphors... the large bonsai tree that died the week my divorce was final, from which we saved one tiny shoot... planted it and let it take its own shape for a year before the cats ate the leaves... shaped it and let it grow back... the cats knocked it from the shelf. I replanted it in one of my vintage Fiesta mixing bowls after finding that it was absolutely root-choked and would have died had it not fallen. When my marriage is not going the way I want it to, it reminds me to water it.

All of this flew through my head in an instant.

"You better have picked the hardiest, strongest rosebush in the whole freaking store," I warned her.  She replied that the branches were super thick and sturdy-looking. It was our daughter's that she was worried about, because it looked dainty and vulnerable.

I dug the holes, and we planted them.

Two weeks went by. Both kids dutifully watered them.

Four weeks.

Six.

My daughter's rosebush sprouted leaves in every direction overnight.

Seven.

He began to whine that "maybe [his] dream is dead." We began having quiet discussions as to whether it would be better to face the truth or replace it after he was in bed. I began to prepare him for the fact that sometimes plants don't change homes as well as people do.

Eight.

I see the tiniest change in color on one of the stems. Only then does it occur to me that growth in something this strong means being able to push through the tough shell. I whisper encouragement to it and say nothing to anyone in case I am wrong.

Nine.

A leaf is pushing its way out.

Ten:

Leaves everywhere.

Eleven:

It has a bud.

It's still closed, and there's no visible color, but there is hope. It has shoved its way through the thick skin it has created to protect itself;  grown and produced something beautiful.

We still water it daily.

Some dreams just take longer to come true.

Seek out the good.

In the midst of the mess with the county, I must stop to find the good.

Lucas swam the full length of the pool at the Y for the first time in today's swim lesson.

We spent the afternoon and evening at a friend's house. There were multiple kids who were Lucas's age and older.A child who came to us unable to attend a regular classroom because of disruptive and argumentative behaviors due to trauma functioned today for seven hours with both kids whom he knew and kids he did not, both in a pool and out. There was no bickering, no weird triggering of emotion, no sulking or pouting. He tested me only once, and in a way that was completely age appropriate for a nine year old. It helped that the other kids were kind and went out of their way to include him when he was not yet confident leaving the shallow end of the pool. He didn't even try to argue when I told him that we had to leave.

I'm telling all of you that I noticed these things, but it just occurred to me that I have not told him.

I am going to go do that now.

Silent Shout

I apologize for being so quiet over the past month.

We have been experiencing a lot of frustration with the county agency. I cannot write about it here. I am taking deep breaths and waiting impatiently for things to work out the way they should.

I really do wish I could vent about it. I have so much to say.

I can't even.

I wish I could vent about everything that's going on.

Sometimes government agencies are difficult to work with.

That is all.

I'm here. I'm just exhausted by both the child and the system and don't have a whole lot to say at the moment.

I'm feeling discouraged.

Full Disclosure

I have told you that I will not write only the happy sunshine. It's not all autonomous dandelions and perfectly fitting songs.

It was a bad week in regards to Lucas and me.

Life this week was ridiculously demanding for a hundred different reasons. Everyone had huge needs, and it felt like I was the only one who could meet them. I slept three hours or less each night, dropping into bed at 2 and getting up at 5. The details of it all are not important for the purpose of this blog. What is important is the way it affected my ability to manage all of the things.

Frankly, I did not entirely manage all of the things.

I struggled so hard to be upbeat and to approach him with an open and positive attitude. I try to respond to him in a way that is understanding of his trauma, but some days - lately I feel like it is most days - I just don't catch it. He is not able to identify outright when he is worrying about something, and so he says something that to me will appear completely random.

"I'm so excited! At the end of the summer, I can finally be adopted!"

My brain says, "Oh crap. It doesn't matter how much we want to, we don't get to decide that. I don't want him to have that timeline in his head, because it might not happen that fast."

I say out loud, "Here's hoping, Dude, but that's not our decision - it's the judge's."

From the bathroom, my wife hisses at me to stop. I am baffled, but I do. She tells me - slightly impatiently, as she does not understand how she can possibly be the only one who sees these things - that he was trying to get me to tell him that we, and more importantly I, want him and will fight for him when the time comes.

She gets it, and sees what I don't when it comes to his trauma. I am admittedly quite opinionated after having taught for twenty years and having worked with my at-risk population of teenagers for four of them, but I have seen the results on this, and I know she is right. She never has trouble with him to half the extent that I do, and she reads between his lines in was that I cannot.

This one moment leads directly back to this week.

Twice now I have had moments of, "I can't do this." I've had my own mini-meltdown, wrestling with all of it, locked in the bathroom crying into a towel to keep from being heard (edit, because I think it merits being said: there has never been an, "I'm done," moment in which I've ever even considered giving up. They've all been moments of feeling like I am a failure, like I should be able to make a decision and stretch farther to make it happen. They've not had anything to do with whether or not he fits in our house).

I look at him, and I see nine.

Emotionally, he is five.

His smartass, sarcastic, passive aggressive, attention-seeking snark is... god, sometimes it feels like thirteen. Sometimes t feels like nine. Sometimes it feels like three.

Emotionally, he is five. 

The way he throws himself once or twice a week into a pile when he doesn't want to move in the morning, leaving me little choice but to dress him myself as he whines and grunts in protest, is two.

The way he leaves behind him a trail of coats, bags, clothes he has changed out of, toys, sweatshirts, is... I don't know. Four? A poorly trained six?

This is part of the issue, too. We were strict with my daughter. She grew up with it ingrained in her that she did not leave a path of debris. She wasn't perfect by any stretch, but she knew the expectation and had consequences if she did not meet it.

He does not follow a yearly readiness standard. He is not only nine or five or four or six or two. I don't know which standard to enforce and which to allow to slide by because he is simply not emotionally grown enough to handle it yet. I have grown impatient with it, feeling like the three months in which he has been in our home should have been enough to at least get down the basics of bringing your plate from the table when you're done eating and not leaving discarded clothes all over the bedroom or bathroom floor when the hamper is only a few feet away.

I know grown men who still haven't mastered the concept of putting the lid back down, so I'm just shaking my head at that... but it seems so simple a concept.

I just cannot read the way he cues me up for reassurance the way my wife can. It's so frustrating to me, because it's not as if I'm not making an effort. I myself was a kid who was very passive and backward in my approach to things, and I was rarely able to name what I needed... and that makes me think that I should be able to see it. I pick up on it maybe 25% of the time, when it is more obvious... when he is talking "to himself" and saying, "I could ask Mom something, but she would probably say no..." and even then, I tend to get irritated rather than address the need. He yells from the bathroom that he has diarrhea - something he no doubt has handled by himself in a neglect situation for five years - and I can see he is really asking if he will be taken care of if he gets truly sick and needs help. Maybe it's the fact that I still struggle with not being able to name my own complexities occasionally - we dislike in others that which we dislike about ourselves. I don't know. When it's named, I can meet it. If I know what he's feeling and what he's responding to, I'm solid on the correct response 80% of the time. Disclosing former abuse? Got it. Feeling like he has no roots and needs to know this is his home, not just where he's staying for a while? Got it. Under a veil of defiance and tantrum, it is so much more difficult to see.

Sometimes he is just ticked off at the world and wants to be angry and surly, arguing about anything and everything, just because he doesn't know how to put into words what he is really upset about. These are the hardest days, because even when I am doing everything right in the way I am approaching him, he is bound, set, and determined to make me into what he knows, all the while hoping that I won't become it.

On these days, I have those moments of wondering if I'm really cut out for this and if I'll ever really reach a point of "getting it."

My wife will often take over on these days, via facetime if she is already at work. He typically responds to her fairly quickly, which on some days is a relief, and on other days just makes me feel more frustrated.

I've taken to "meeting" with him after we've had an issue and both have had a minute to breathe. Most often, this happens on our way to the day care in the morning. How did we do today? What's one thing that you could have done better? What's one thing I could have done better? When you said xyz, how were you trying to make me feel? Did you think I was mad at you when I did x? It has helped a little bit, if only to show that I'm not just aggravated with him and wishing he didn't exist.

I do not have a bubbly demeanor to begin with. An ex from high school nicknamed me "Wednesday." It's true that I'm introverted and don't like to people. I think that my RBF probably figures into at least some of what's happening here. Again, he is emotionally younger. What would a toddler or kindergartner think seeing my at-rest face? There is not the balance of two year old omigaw-everything-you-do-is-so-stinking-cute to counter the tantrum, passive aggressive behavior.

This is the reality of fostering. So many times it's not about the kid... it's about you and how you choose to respond as the parent.

When you foster, it's not enough to yell encouragement as the kid picks his way through the flames. You have to jump in too, and some days, everything hurts.

Maybe that's what it comes down to, really. Some days, he feels that everything hurts and it feels like nothing can ever make it not hurt.

Sometimes I know to just pull him to me in a hug instead of debating the tantrum. Sometimes I recognize that he just needs an anchor in that way.

I just hope that I am learning these ropes at least as quickly as I am expecting him to. Otherwise, I am just another two-faced adult who does not live the words she speaks.

He cannot afford another one of those.

I choose you.

It was a leisurely, pleasant morning. After being sleep deprived for a full week, my wife let me sleep in till 8 and made waffles. All of that was cleaned up, and Lucas was coming down the stairs from getting himself dressed for the day. Through the cut glass window came tiny splashes of yellow.

"Whoa! Look at all those sunflowers! They look so pretty!"

I explained that they're dandelions... that some people think they're weeds, but I like to think of them as flowers that just pop up anywhere they want.

"That's so cool. They could go anywhere, but they're here. It's like they're saying, 'I choose you."

Leave it to Lucas to think this way. They are tiny seeds blown indiscriminately on the wind, with no control over where they end up, and he thinks they're choosing us...

... just like he did.

It Lingers.

Crazy busy week. I'm only here for a moment to try to clear out the muck clogging my head.

I had the opportunity this week to have a heart to heart conversation with a child who had just been adopted that day by a stepparent. The situation with her non-involved biological parent, with whom she has had no contact in many years, is an ugly one.

She said she felt let down and sad after the court adjourned... that she had expected for everything to feel bigger and more dramatic. She was glad for the outcome, but not overflowing with joy, and that confused her. We had a talk about it; the conclusion we came to is that she was extremely relieved that he can no longer take steps to make her miserable or keep her from opportunities in her future, but that the past wasn't going away. It doesn't all poof the moment the adoption decree goes out. The trauma remains. The anger, the grief - all of it. It wasn't something she anticipated. I think she expected a slammed door of closure and was very bummed when she realized that she still had to deal with her own head and all that is in it.

Now it's up to her to figure out how to work through it and how to leave whatever negative baggage can manage to set down on the side of the road as she travels.

I can see this same conversation happening one day with Lucas. His drastically black and white thought processes make me fully expect that he will be very baffled when adoption does not immediately result in a perfectly wrapped box of Over It.

Nowhere near the end of the tunnel, but a light anyhow.

We had a good morning. I got to work on time.

I had a formal observation, and none of my students were disruptive or rude. I didn't even have to bribe them. 😆 In fact, I didn't give them advance notice at all. The lesson went well and as planned.

I feel exhausted and have a thousand things to do, but I'm counting the good wherever good can be counted.

working on a new stripe.

He is testing for the yellow stripe on his white belt today.

It's odd sometimes how tests come up without warning. Life does that though. Just when you think you haven't made any progress, you're suddenly at the point of moving to the next level.

Hopefully all will go well... he is determined enough for certain. The determination and perseverance he shows here are the best of his survival skills.

He has learned so much. I know that I am impatient. I want to treat him like a nine year old, because in body he is nine. I forget that despite his formal training in addition, subtraction - even multiplication - he has not had training in the kindergarten side of things. When his kindergarten classmates were learning sharing, respect for personal space, taking turns speaking, obedience to directions, he was jumping through multiple schools and trying to figure out if anyone was going to bother to feed him when he got home. That's when he showed up at school at all... most of that year he was truant because no one could be bothered to get him ready and out the door.

I expect him to know how to do those things, and he hasn't had the practice applying them in a safe place. He has heard the words, but he has not learned to apply them; being kind, quiet, and obedient did not get his needs met. He would likely be dead or more damaged if he had been those things. I know that, and yet when he looks me in my eyes and says no, it is so difficult for me to not see red.It takes every bit of energy I have to not react to him, and often not reacting feels like allowing him to get away with it.

... and that's the issue. I feel like less of a parent if I let him get away with it. I  should see him as a preschooler in that moment, throwing a tantrum, and react accordingly. I would not yell at a toddler or preschooler - it creates fear rather than respect.  He's had enough of that already. I see a nine year-old standing in front of me, though. I don't see a toddler... and I have to force myself past the you-defiant-little-twerp moment that rises up in an instant. The contradiction between IQ and EQ is maddening. He is learning and increasing the EQ little by little each day, but my wife has to remind me daily to be patient with him while he catches up.

If you're unfamiliar with the term EQ, you can check out the basics of Emotional Quotient here:
https://www.todaysparent.com/kids/kids-health/eq-vs-iq-why-emotional-intelligence-will-take-kids-farther-in-life/

He will keep trying, and so will I.

The absence of these skills is destroying our time together.

I just want to be able to enjoy my kid.

Soon, right?

I have to keep telling myself -  soon. 

Breakfast drama.

Child: I can't wait to have pop tarts for breakfast.

Adult: [remembers that pop tarts are not a full meal gig in this house; quietly texts wife to confirm that nothing has changed in this respect. Wife replies that this is still so.]

Adult: Sorry, dude - pop tarts are for a snack or something to go with your lunch. They're never a full breakfast in our house. That hasn't changed.

Child: [whining] What? What do you mean? Why do you buy them if I can't eat them? This is so stupid! [flops down on sofa]

Adult: do you want a bagel with cream cheese?

Child: No! I'm not eating!

[Adult texts wife, who replies that she should just send him with oatmeal to daycare. Adult takes out oatmeal and begins to prepare it in a tupperware container]

Child: What are you doing?

Adult: I'm making oatmeal for you to take with you.

Child: I'm not eating it. It's going to go to waste.

[wife asks to speak to child on the phone. Child whines unintelligibly from the other room]

Child: Fine. I'll eat a bagel.

Adult: I've already made the oatmeal at this point. You kind of missed your chance.

[Child rants all over again. Ample use of the word "stupid']

Adult: I'm not debating with  you. I need to get ready. It's on the table.

[Adult retreats to the bathroom for makeup/hair routine. Five minutes pass.]

Child, calling from kitchen: Ugh! I wish I didn't change my mind so much all the time!

Child, after getting no reply: UGH! I WISH I DIDN'T CHANGE MY MIND SO MUCH ALL THE TIME!

Adult, returning to kitchen: Please don't shout through the house. What do you need?

Child: I wish I didn't change my mind so much all the time. [looks pointedly at the container of oatmeal]

Adult: Just eat it if you want to eat it. It will taste better warm anyway.

[child sits down at table, grabs plastic spoon from the top of the container, and plows through the oatmeal like he has not eaten in a week]

[Adult shakes head and returns to the bathroom]


FIN.

and

One of his molars has an abscess requiring extraction. The dentist says it's a cyclical, chronic infection. The extraction is scheduled in two weeks, after a round of antibiotics.

when we actually get to the dentist...

... oh wait. You meant that insurance? The medical assistance insurance? No, sorry, we didn't know that isn't the same as the state-assistance Chip insurance. We don't participate.

You took off from work to take him? You asked us this a month ago when you made the appointment? Yes, we're sorry. These things can be so confusing.

I really want to destroy someone right now.

This dentist is reputed to be very kind to children, particularly those who have had trauma in the dental office. I told my wife to just pay for the damn thing out of pocket.

You want to know what's hard about fostering? THIS. This bullshit is hard. Trying to tell a kid that he is worth more than being treated like a leftover, unwanted sock only to find that society continues to tell him that's exactly what he is.

This system is such a freaking joke.

Sometimes, it IS about me.

Sometimes I do not like myself very much.

He has ten years' worth of a gaping black hole that should have been filled with nurturing, security, innocence, and joy. It was filled with fear, abuse, more fear, insecurity about food, insecurity about housing, insecurity about truth and its purpose, more fear, more abuse, and more fear.

Slowly, we've been scooping out the muck. The fear and insecurity are at least partly gone... but the current good doesn't fill the void. It's not proportional. It's three months of good and ten years of bad, and I don't see how I'm ever going to catch up. It's unreasonable to expect a core shift, but I think I had expected him to be at least as cooperative as he was in his first and second week here.  Recognizing that he feels safe enough to test me is of little consolation.

I try to stretch myself to fill the gaps and make up the difference, and then I get so damned tired and frustrated when he is incapable of recognizing the gargantuan effort (there again is the whole "don't take it personally"thing).

I don't know how to get him past this.

My wife has taken both kids for most of the weekend. I am stuck between grateful that I had some time to finish some school work and beating my head against the wall because I can't seem to release the anxiety and tension enough to actually accomplish anything with the time that I've been given (which has led me to writing this entry in a flickering hope that I might be able to reset my brain and be productive so that I, too, can avoid acting like an ungrateful cur who is never happy about anything).

I cannot let go of the anxiety and the stress. I try to self soothe - epsom salt bath, time away from the house, food (that's a bucket of funk in itself), music... none of the things I usually do are working.

I know it's trauma, and that on some level he and I are the same. A huge burden was just lifted from my shoulders after nearly twenty years, and I am approaching full closure on something that has all but tortured me. I should be ecstatic, and was for the first hours after receiving the news... but it didn't stay.  I have a weight lifted knowing that person is safe now, but that's where it ends. I still have an anger that colors the way I see the world. I have tried for seven years to get rid of it, but it persists. I don't actively think about it, but that doesn't seem to matter at this point. I don't trust people. I look for hidden agendas. I stand guard over my children like a wounded bear stands over a cub, ready to make one desperate last stand. I see the bad first and then allow flickers of reflected light to point out little bits of good. I don't want to be this way. I hate being this way. Yet, here I am, and there he is, and the only thing I have learned more than he has is that it is possible to exist, push through, and be successful in spite of it.

For now, I am trying to create good. It works for a time but has a letdown afterward.

I'm going to keep reading and work on sorting myself so that I can continue to help him do the same. If you have any books that might be of assistance, please leave the title and author in the comments. Right now I'm wrapping up The Four Agreements and moving into The Untethered Soul. Both are about adjusting your worldview. I have a few trauma-specific books like The Body Keeps the Score that I may return to as well now that I'm in a different mindset than I was when I first read them.

When I see him, I see a traumatized kid. When I see myself, I see a rotten-attitude adult who should know better. Maybe this relentless flagellant attitude is where I need to start. Beating myself isn't getting the desired result.

There's work to do.

Sometimes, when you foster, you'll feel like you want to rip your hair right out.

We are out of the honeymoon and full into the constant testing, prove-you-are-what-you-say-you-are stage.

Prove to me you'll still want me when I act like a total jerk.

Prove to me you'll still love me when I argue about anything and everything just for the sake of arguing.

Prove to me that you won't physically abuse me when I push you to the absolute brink of your patience and to the end of your sanity.

Prove to me that you're not like the others.

Prove to me that this really is my house, and that you won't ever get so pissed off that you make me leave it.

I dropped him off at daycare, biting it all back, refusing to engage or argue... pulled out of the parking lot and sobbed for the entire 45 minute commute to work.

I'm reading The Four Agreements, and one of the agreements is to not take things personally - that the thoughts, words, and actions of a person are a reflection of the physical and emotional place that the person is in. I have mastered this concept at work, and 97% of the time I do not react personally to my students when they act up. At home, with him... I'm not yet there. I struggle with the fact that he makes me late for work and has no regard for the position it puts me in. I struggle with the fact that I spend money I can't afford to waste on food that he asks for and then abjectly refuses to eat. I struggle with the way he responds only if I am a complete hardass with immovable boundaries. It becomes, "Be downstairs dressed and with your teeth brushed in three minutes if you want to keep your screen time." I hate it.

In the moment, it's difficult to see the core reality of what's happening - that he is trying to follow old familiar patterns and push me into familiar roles. More difficult is his lack of conscious awareness that he is following that path. In his head, there is nothing but, "I'm tired and it's cold and I'm not getting out of this bed." The fact that it is not a conscious thing makes it even more difficult to actually confront the problem and pull it out at the root.

I don't yet have a resolution on this. It will no doubt be a process, and it will take work on both his part and on my own to make the change. I just do not want to put only the warm fuzzy moments here. They exist, but they are highlights. Sometimes the best I can claim is that he went back upstairs to take care of dirty clothes without getting mouthy or that he apologized when I ask him to take care of something that he forgot. I even got an unsolicited "yes, ma'am" yesterday.

On days like today, the best I can claim is that I did not allow him to push me into becoming what he fears I already am... because he as never known an adult to be anything different.

There's work to do.

Decapitated Poultry.

I haven't even had time to breathe this week. Visits, meetings, tae kwon do, horseback riding lessons, doctor appointments... I'm sure we ate and slept somewhere in the interim. A few moments from the week:
~~~~

We had another song moment this week. He really does see himself in music.  I wasn't paying attention to the song he was singing along to, and from the back seat I heard him say, "This song is me too, Mom! Listen to it!"

This was what had just played:

Guess it's true, I'm not good at a one-night stand
But I still need love 'cause I'm just a man
These nights never seem to go to plan
I don't want you to leave, will you hold my hand

 

Oh, won't you stay with me
'Cause you're all I need
This ain't love, it's clear to see
But, darling, stay with me

 

 He forever changes the way I hear these songs. 

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

He has been going to tae kwon do twice a week. Today he asked me when he's going to learn to blend. I thought I heard him wrong. 

"When you're going to what?"

"Blend. You know, blend."

"No dude, I don't. What do you mean?"

"You know, like when you blend into walls and stuff and nobody can see you. When are we going to do that?"

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Working with agencies is so hard. There are fifteen different adults - caseworkers, visitation workers, adoption agency workers, therapists. Everyone wants a piece and has to meet with him and with us. He gets so frustrated with the parade of people who want a piece of his time to check in. He gets home so late already, and there is no way to have these visits and still be able to do his activities.  The surliness that comes as a result makes me have to navigate the rocky road between forcing manners that he has been taught to observe in our house and being allowed to have a healthy expression of his anger about being in this situation. He gets furious with me when he feels like I am not defending him against this invasion into our home. The whole thing is just so messy. 

 

 

~~~~~~~~

 

He does pick up on the manners, though. I am relieved to see him so respectful of his tkd master - he never complains at having to do a specfic exercise or repetition of his forms, and every response has a "Sir" tacked on to the end. When he got himself turned around trying to learn the rest of form 1 tonight, I watched him take a deep breath and collect himself before starting over. Two times. Four times. I see him learning to manage it.

 

The bigger challenge has been how to get him to hit the release valve.  He does not deal with his emotions - the anger, the grief, the confusion. He shoves them all down, and they leak out. We are trying to teach him that he can face these emotions without them sweeping him into oblivion. They just feel so big to him, and I am sure that he feels that he will be crushed under their weight. They make him feel out of control. I do not think that he has ever been encouraged to find the middle ground between shoving it all down and completely surrendering control to the rage and grief.

From earlier this week...

I was away from my computer when this happened and forgot to put it down.

Tuesday was his first day of school in his new program. I packed a lunch and put into it a little three line note - "I love you! I'll see you soon! Love, Mom."

That evening, as he changed into his pajamas, I grabbed his pants from the floor and found the note in his pocket.

"Buddy, what do you want me to do with this piece of paper in your pocket? Do you want to keep it?"

"Put that in my treasure box. That's one of my treasures."

I managed a, "Sounds good," without crying and put the note, still folded, in the miniature Lane cedar chest "treasure box" on his dresser.

My god, what power there is in such small things.

Just. So. Tired.

I didn't anticipate how exhausting this would be.

Don't get me wrong. I love it. I just didn't anticipate infant-level needs combined with nine year-old level needs. That's what trauma does, though. In some ways, his development is on an even keel with his age-level peers. In others, he has had seriously arrested development.

In the infant and toddler years, there's a trust that is supposed to exist between a child and a caretaker. That trust is a foundation for everything because it allows for the risk-taking that accompanies learning. When that trust doesn't exist - when parental responses are inconsistent due to moods, intoxication from drugs or alchohol (and the skewed judgment that comes with both), parental anger issues, emotional abuse, and simple neglect, that foundation doesn't exist. It can't be built upon, and any attempts to do so result in disasters ranging from misunderstanding to tantrums.

He has to learn that not all adults lie and fail to do what they say.

He has to be taught how he will be treated, and what's fair to expect. He has to be actively taught that he can make mistakes without getting beaten or locked somewhere, and then he has to complete that lesson by seeing for himself that we follow through and tell the truth.

He has to be taught about sharing - not because he wants to have everything to himself, but because he has never had anything, and traditionally what little he had has always been snatched away at some point. He has almost been coddled in this way, with people making excuses for him once he had his own things rather than teach him how to share. No one has taught him that there can be a handful of things that you never have to share, but those things aren't stuff you bring around other people because you can hurt people's feelings that way.

He has to be taught table manners from scratch... that he doesn't have to take huge bites and eat lightning fast because no one is going to snatch the food from his plate. He has to be taught how to sit at a table and eat a meal with a family - wait till everyone is at the table to eat, don't put your knees up, ask to be excused, ask for someone to pass something to you rather than reach across their personal space. He has to be taught how to use a knife. He has to be taught to not put his face down to the plate and suck the food off of it when he cannot get his food to make the leap onto his fork or spoon.

He has to be taught that other people have feelings, and that just because he is in a sour mood does not make it okay for him to treat the people around him like garbage. This is a HUGE one for us. He has never before had anyone to model this for him. If someone else was in a rotten mood, he was expected to bear the brunt of it without complaint. We are working on teaching him that not only was it awful that anyone did that to him, it is also awful if he does it to anyone else. Some days he remembers and uses some words rather than acting out. Some days, the feelings are too much and he struggles.

He has to be taught that being educated and intelligent is not a bad thing. He is slowly coming around to this. We read at least a chapter of Percy Jackson every night (we've just begun book three), and he is deciding that he no longer despises school with every fiber of his being (I'll take it after the emotional wrestling match we had the first few days of school). I'm working on getting him to understand that education and intelligence are his key to being able to provide for himself instead of always and forever depending on someone to provide for him. It's going to take a while, but it will happen.

He has to be taught balance. He wants to be entertained and paid attention to every waking second of the day after having been pushed aside and ignored every waking second. He doesn't know how to deal with quiet moments when his own head rears up and gets the best of him. He wants constant interaction to chase all of that away. Hopefully with counseling and some structure at home, he will be able to work through that.  It's a difficult road... at 42, I still struggle with being quiet in my own head occasionally.

So I'm tired. It's a productive tired - we are making progress, and so is he - but holy wow, I'm exhausted.

Comments are finally fixed (I hope)

I think the comments feature is finally fixed. I did a test comment, and it worked. If you do not have a blogger account (I expect most of you won't), please leave your fb name or some other identifier so I know who posted the comment. Thanks :)

Worth More.

We have been wrestling with dental care.

Once we can adopt him, he'll be on both of our insurance plans. For now, as a foster child, he is on the state insurance plan.

No one participates with the state insurance plan.

This is a child who has serious dental decay and damage due to neglect and malnutrition. His molars are more silver than enamel, with rows of crowns top and bottom. They hurt, and he tends to avoid extremely cold food because of the sensitivity.  He needs a palate expander to make room for his adult teeth (which will have some level of damage when they come in because they formed at a time when he was not well fed).

We want to fix all of these things for him.

I lost count of how many dentists we called. The amount of snark I encountered was staggering, and frankly disgusting. I was told by one office that they do not accept this insurance because they "cater to a certain clientele" and that we should take him to a free clinic in Philadelphia, but "be in line by 7am because it fills up fast." Another told us that for a kid like this, a palate expander would be useless and they'd likely just pull the affected teeth instead - after all, there would never be follow through, and a palate expander isn't a single visit fix.

The disdain and disrespect I encountered was positively vile.

He is a child. He didn't ask to be half starved. He didn't ask to not have a toothbrush or toothpaste in the house, and he didn't ask to never know how to use them if they had been there. He is nine.

The records say that he "screamed through" the procedures at the last dentist visit, and that they had to lay across him to force compliance. He is completely and utterly terrified of the dentist at this point. I have no idea what those bumbling idiots were thinking. You're going to take a kid who has been abused, hold him down, and shove painful things in his mouth? Sweet baby Jesus, it makes me want to beat the living crap out of someone.

This child may come in with decay and baggage, but he is no less worthy of humane treatment and kindness than the kids of the executives who come in from an afternoon at the country club. It makes me irate.

My mama bear claws are long, people, and I know how to use them.

We have found a dentist who participates and who has said all of the right things when it comes to treating a child who has had traumatic experiences both in and out of the chair. They have said that they will not only allow one of us back with him, but will also allow us to put him on our lap to be examined in a regular reclining chair while they build trust with him. This is what empathy looks like. This is what dignity and potential recovery for a child looks like.

If we have to come back ten times in order to get him to a place of being still, we'll do it. No one will ever pin him down again. Not while I am breathing.

He, too, speaks in music.

Today's to and fro travels:

in the car...

Lucas: [singing] I said you're holding back... she said shut up and dance with me!

Me: [smirk] You just like this song because you can say, "shut up," and get away with it.

Lucas: [through giggles] You're totally right. I can say "shut up," in this song all day long!



Later, as we are pulling out of a parking space....

Lucas: [singing along to the radio] I like me better when I'm with you... I like me better when I'm with you...

Mom, does this song remind you of anyone?

Me: Should it?

Lucas: Yes, this is totally me. This song is totally, totally me.

Me: Do you like yourself better when you're with us?

Lucas: [grins] Totally. I feel like a whole different person when I'm with you.



He wished on a shooting star tonight. I don't dare ask - it wouldn't come true - but I'd love to know what he wished for.

"Today I was a hero."

Today was his first day of before-school care. I must be at work by 7:15 and live 50 minutes from work, so he has to get there early. He whined and complained - so early, so boring, all babies, on and on and on. I was bracing myself for complaints when he got off the bus. Instead, he came to the door and announced his homework was already done. We sat down for an early dinner.

"I was a hero today."

"Really? How?"

"I was at that daycare place this morning, and there was a little kid [toddler] rocking on a chair. The teacher kept telling the kid to stop rocking, stop rocking, but he didn't. I saw the chair going over backwards, and I just dove across for it. If it was a big kid like me I wouldn't care, but I wasn't letting that tiny little kid's head hit that hard floor! I caught his little head in one hand and my other arm got cut up on the chair foot thing when it fell.  The teacher told me I'm a hero!"

He pulled up his right sleeve, and sure enough, the front of his forearm is bruised and scraped like something metal had been dragged across it.

I love that his instinct in that situation was to immediately jump in and protect someone smaller. Under all of the anxiety, grief, and anger is a heart of gold. I am determined to help him pull back the layers and uncover it.

You Will Be Found II

Tonight in the car, my daughter was telling me about a song from Dear Evan Hansen that one of her friends is always singing. I'm not yet familiar with the entire show, so when she said that it was something about a kid in the bathroom, I just raised an eyebrow and looked at her blankly. I pulled up youtube on my phone, and she played the song for me.

Immediately following that song came "You Will Be Found," the song I had written about last week. I told my daughter that it's my favorite song from this show, but didn't say why. We're about four lines into the song when Lucas pipes up from the back seat.

"Guys, I know this is really weird, but this song totally sounds like they're singing about me."

[Don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry]

"You know what, bud? I thought the same thing. I heard it for the first time right after we met you."
"You did?"
"Yep... and I'm hoping that everything ends the same way as the song ends, too."

He listened to the rest of the song in silence... I heard sniffling from the back seat, but I was on the highway and couldn't turn around to look. By the time we reached the exit, he was chattering again and on to deep discussions about exactly what's needed to make the end portal in the stronghold work.

he will be found.
he has been found.

Mentally drained.

I didn't realize how exhausted I would be. This is all so emotionally draining.

I spent three hours in an interagency meeting with the IU yesterday to determine his educational placement. I think I made the right choice on how to approach it. Tomorrow I meet with the new school.

He argues with me over everything. It doesn't matter if it's trivial or important - he has to have the last word, and he has to feel like he is in control. He pouts, whines, and throws tantrums. It's not impossible to handle, and he's not violent... it's just absolutely exhausting. Some days he is so agreeable, and others feel like a battle all day long. He mutters under his breath about how things are unfair. He hasn't yet learned how to ask for what he needs or wants without being passive aggressive in this way. He reluctantly responds if I cue him. On some days I am better equipped to deal with it without taking the bait.

Every day - every hour - is a new lesson about how things work in a functional family. Yes, you are expected to take out the recycling. Yes, you are expected to fold your clothes and put them back in your drawer if they are not dirty. Yes, you are expected to take your dish to the sink and rinse it after a meal. Yes, you are expected to make your bed every day. He does not have a good sense of what a kid should be expected to do, and he is always on the lookout in case we would take advantage of him. Every day is a never-ending cycle of quietly living consistently into being believed and trusted. If plans change unexpectedly, even for reasons beyond my control, I am treated as if I knew all along and lied to him.

He is used to having to be sneaky to get his needs met. He is slowly (ever so slowly) learning that if he tries to sneak screen time early, he will not get it at all. He tries to use semantics - I told him he cannot have two of the same snack, but one pack of fruit snacks was grape and one was strawberry, so that's technically not the same. He technically had no fruit snacks that day and had to pick something different.  He has been denied food as punishment, though, so I have to be careful about what I do in this respect. He has the ability to go on a major hunger strike, too, which doesn't help at all.

And interspersed through all of this, he will have a great time with his sister, have a successful riding or swimming lesson or tae kwon do class. He will run up to me arms outstretched with a huge grin on his face. He is standing on the very structure against which he fights tooth and nail.

It's getting better, little by little... but I can't remember the last time my brain was this tired.

Nervewracking.

We had a permanency hearing today. The judge ruled to keep him in care in our home.

We are officially a pre-adoptive placement.

The next step is to pursue termination of parental rights. This all depends on whether or not his biological mother follows the plan set out for her. I cannot put any details here, but suffice it to say that she has not done so to this point.

We sat there, flanking him, listening to the testimony of the caseworker. I didn't know if we would be called up or if he would... and though we have not done anything to merit losing him, that room was so stressful. The judge was soft-spoken and kind to everyone involved (and complimented Lucas on the sharpness of his bow tie), and he even allowed more interruptions than I would have ever expected, but I still held my breath. I wish I could trust the system, but the people are so overworked and underpaid, manipulated and lied to daily... it creates a situation in which kids can fall through the cracks. I don't want him to be one of them.

The next hearing is at the beginning of July. I'm hoping that by then, Independence Day will take on a whole new meaning.

You will be found.

There is a huge, raw vulnerability that comes with falling for a kid whom a county could simply decide isn't right for your home and vice versa... we've fallen for kids who go back to their parents, and I cannot explain the excruciating pain of releasing a child to someone who allowed their teeth to rot and allowed them to live in filth with no food and no clothing. I wish it on no one. I cannot say that it isn't worth it, but if you're not up for that pain and up for opening your heart anyway because it's what the kids need, then maybe think twice about fostering. I still carry photos of those boys in my phone. I probably always will.

I fell for Lucas the first weekend he was with us.

It was the Monday after his very first weekend with us. I was driving home from work, exploring some of the new Broadway albums on youtube. This song suckerpunched me, and I was ugly crying 30 seconds in. It became his song to me, though he's never heard it (and he won't until I can make it through without bawling).

"You Will Be Found" from Dear Evan Hansen 

^^^ Youtube link - click to hear it ^^^

Have you ever felt like nobody was there?
Have you ever felt forgotten in the middle of nowhere?
Have you ever felt like you could disappear?
Like you could fall, and no one would hear?

Well, let that lonely feeling wash away
Maybe there's a reason to believe you'll be okay
'Cause when you don't feel strong enough to stand
You can reach, reach out your hand

And oh, someone will coming running
And I know, they'll take you home

Even when the dark comes crashing through
When you need a friend to carry you
And when you're broken on the ground
You will be found

So let the sun come streaming in
'Cause you'll reach up and you'll rise again
Lift your head and look around
You will be found
You will be found
You will be found
You will be found
You will be found

Tan.

Him: “I shouldn’t say that. It sounds racist.”
Me: “What’s racist?”
Him: “You know, like black and white.”
Me: “It’s more if one color or race feels like it’s better than another color or race. Like if you felt you were better than black people because you’re white, that would be -
Him: “What? I’m WHITE? What do you mean I’m white?”
[I stop for a moment, considering his freckled day-glo skin and auburn hair]
Me: “What did you think you were?”
Him: “Tan! I thought I was tan!”
Me: “You know what, man? I love your answer so much more. You go on being tan. I think I’m going to be tan, too.”
Him: “Why does everybody talk about black and white, anyway?”
One day I will teach him, but he has already seen far too many disappointing and hateful adults in his nine years. Maybe after a few months of gaining some positive influences from all shades and religions, we will explore that topic a bit more.
For now, I just love the innocence of his answer.

Too much change.

He starts school today.

This is his seventh school, and he's in only third grade.

He is not happy about going. He is tiny and has been bullied at other schools. He's not excited about having someone in the classroom to assist him, either... it's embarrassing and he doesn't want to stand out.

I'm worried for him and am trying to not show it.

Nightmares

After a bio visit and finding out he starts school this week, it was nightmares all night long.

I'm exhausted.

*edit* I just reread this. They were his nightmares, not mine. *


I fixed the comment thing. I had to change the settings.

comments welcome

Just an FYI  - comments on the blog are welcome. If you have a question or an opinion, feel free to share it.

Where the light enters you

Lucas has been asking for weeks to see A Wrinkle in Time. I took him today.

I wish I had done my research. I didn't remember much of the book - a dad who discovers how to fold time/distance, gets lost in the universe, finds his way home with the help of his daughter who discovers herself along the way. What I forgot was that there was a little boy about Lucas's age who was adopted by the family just days before the dad vanished into thin air. There were adults talking about the kids in earshot, discussing what they went through as if they weren't human enough to hear and understand. There was bullying.  I peeked over and saw him wiping his eyes twice. About twenty minutes in, he leaned over and told met that he thinks that maybe we should have waited for my 14 year old daughter (here known as Elizabeth) to come with us. Three minutes after that, he grabbed onto my arm and put his head on my shoulder, telling me that he was sleepy. I let him know that if anything in the movie was upsetting to him and he wanted to leave, all he needs to do is say so and that I wouldn't be angry.

"The wound is the place where the Light enters you," (Rumi) was one of the quotes in the movie. For him, I don't think it could be more true.

He leaned over two minutes later and told me we should go and wait for Elizabeth. I put my arm around him, and we left. He was pensive for the rest of the afternoon. I can't help but wonder which parts got to him.

"I wish I could trust CYS," he said in the car today. "They don't know everything. They don't even know half of everything."

I'm working on learning to be soft and be steel all at once... because when he starts telling those stories, I need to be his pillow to crash into and still stand upright and support him.

... and then, after he's asleep, I'll need to find a quiet place and cry my eyes out.

"Oh you poor little thing."

I have decided to call him Lucas here. I just love the name.

Toys R Us is closing, so Lucas and I were out hunting down some deals. It was in part a bust, as the LEGO sets were only 10% off. He wants to build the huge Ninjago sets and display them in his room, but they are about $100-150 apiece. We did, however, manage to score a Nerf crossbow at 40% off.

While we were in line to check out, he quietly said to me, "I love my Nerf thing and all, but I can't wait to get out of this place. The baby stuff reminds me of too many things."

"What kind of things?"

"I'm not telling you that here. Someone might hear me, and they will be all, "Ooh, you poor little thing." He rolled his eyes.

We checked out and walked to the car. Once inside, I told him that he never has to worry about me feeling sorry for him.

The truth is, I won't. I may grieve for his innocence, but I won't feel sorry. He doesn't need that. He doesn't need someone making him feel like he is a helpless victim who has no control over any part of his life. He wants to feel empowered. He wants to feel strong. He wants acknowledgment that at five, six, seven years old, he figured out how to survive when the adults in his life failed to meet his basic needs.

I told him so... and that I hope that in the future he will feel better telling me things because he knows that I will not get all weepy or angry. He needs to worry about himself in those moments, not about me.

He did end up telling me a few things later, none of which I will put here. I'm sure some things will be harder to hear without a visible reaction, but I'll take them one at a time and share those feelings with him as they come up. Sometimes, he's going to need to know that someone is pissed because of what someone else did to him.

He will need the validation. I will just need to offer it with control and level-headedness so that he does not feel his world shake as he tells his story.

I should be sleeping.

There is something about all of this that I do not understand.

When people find out that we are hoping to adopt from the foster system, there is a fair range of reactions.

I don't understand the whole superhero thing.

Don't get me wrong; it is nice to have people tell me that they admire us for what we are doing... it just doesn't make sense to me. It is no superhuman feat to love a child. It does not take radioactive exposure to make a conscious decision to handle trauma-based behaviors with empathy. I mean, what is there not to love about this freckle-faced, mischief-grin kid who one second has the raw emotional needs of a young toddler one moment and the sage wisdom of an aged warrior the next?

I began typing, "You've got to know when talking won't do - when to just scoop them up and hold them," and found myself humming a bastardized version of "The Gambler." It's far too late for me to try to write anything without my "SQUIRREL!" attention deficit moments sneaking their way in.

I digress.

Sometimes, I do just need to pull him close, hold him tight, and tell him that it's okay to be afraid or angry or sad. Sometimes he just needs permission to feel and to be told that a grownup has the watch. He needs to be reminded that he won't have to go foraging in the middle of the night to try to find food, that he will have warm clothes that fit, and that consequences for bad choices may be uncomfortable but will not involve physical pain. These moments are quiet and reflective. There is no super anything involved.

I will, however, say this: this week, for the first time, I am thankful that I was placed in an alternative education school for the past few years. I find myself constantly using techniques at home that I use at school (often with much more success at home). If I hadn't taught here the past few years, my toolbox would have considerably less in it, and I might have felt as if I couldn't handle this. When he gives me a hard time about going to the end of the driveway for the garbage cans, I recognize that it is in part fear of being on the street where I cannot defend him. When he tells me things about his past, I know he needs me to vocalize that I believe him. I know that he needs to be consistently noticed when he works to adjust to a home with structure. Thank you for remembering to ask me before you pick up the remote. Thank you for remembering to put the toilet seat lid down. Thank you for remembering to rinse your dish and put it in the sink. I recognize that he needs to feel heard and seen for all of the things that he does right after feeling so rejected and wrong for all of these years.

I don't feel that I'm special in being able to recognize these things, though. It is not some rare talent. Now, being able to show a nine year old how to build a redstone powered railroad in minecraft and push pigs, cows, and sheep on it for a farm merry-go-round... THAT may be rare mom talent. ;-)

You too could do this. You know that, right? You could do this, and when you make a mistake you could own it just like I do... to be a good model for taking responsibility and making positive change.

I know. I am afraid of the system, too.  It is flawed at best, and my heart has been broken. I still carry photos on my phone of kids who have tattooed their names and faces on my heart forever. Those children will never think that I did not fight for them though. They need to know they're worth it.

So if you see me as super, look in the mirror and see the super in you.

Growth charting

On the first day he came to us, he refused to acknowledge any bad choice or mistake he made. He would blame it on someone or something else - whatever and whoever was nearby.

*note: I really need to come up with a name to use here. Leaving him without a name feels like an injustice... he has been nameless for so long.  I will decide on one before my next entry.*

My first inclination was to argue and make him acknowledge and take responsibility for his actions, but then I stopped to think.

Every single time he has acted out or inappropriately in any way, there has always been a trauma root to the behavior.

I let it go, and I asked him later why he did it.

He thought a while, and then he told me that if he said he did it, he would definitely be in trouble and get punished. If he said he didn't, maybe I'd believe him and he wouldn't get punished at all.

I asked him what "punished" looks like. In his ridiculously articulate, sage way, he told me that he didn't know, and that was the problem. "I don't know you guys yet, you know?"

I explained that honesty always works better in our house, and that I will always respect him more for owning his mistakes when he makes them.

Ever since, for the smallest thing, he says, "Oh, sorry - I got distracted," or, "I didn't realize it was so breakable." He owns it every single time. Hell, he's better at the whole concept than I am at this point. We take a moment each and every time to thank him for his honesty. On the tougher ones where there might actually be a chance of a consequence, we tell him how proud we are of him for taking a chance and thank him for trusting us to not hurt him when he makes a bad choice.

I am stunned at how willing he is. A kid who, I am told, never so much as allowed anyone to touch his shoulder will now jump into my lap or throw his arms around me spontaneously when I walk in from work. He has suffered so much and yet is so resilient.

I teach kids who have given up. He has not. I intend to do whatever it takes to keep it that way.

From last week.

A few moments:

I took him to buy sneakers. The ones he was wearing were ill-fitting and full of holes. He picked a pair of Adidas with a clamshell toe, but they didn't have his size. I ended up ordering them. After walking out of the outlet store with one pair in hand, one pair on foot, and a third on order, he turned to me and happily exclaimed, "These are so cool! No one has ever even worn them before!" My heart broke, and I had to fight the urge to go back in and buy three more pairs. 

I love both his smiles... the one he shows when he thinks he should be smiling, and the real one when his eyes match.

He is happy go lucky on the outside, but there is so much stress contained within. At the mere mention of a county or agency worker, he will spontaneously get a nosebleed and a stomachache. When I told him he was staying, out of his nine year old mouth came a 50 year-old, "Finally! Permanency!" and a hundred questions about how it could all go wrong. For the first 48 hours, he worried silently and was stunned when one of us would sit him down and "read his mind" about what was bothering him. I doctored more nosebleeds than I can count over those two days. He is beginning to believe it now - that we do want him, even after he makes mistakes, and that he can stay.

From earlier this week.

We read a chapter a night. He crashes halfway through, his head in my lap and my non-book hand smoothing his hair. I stay there, watching his lidded REM eyes dart back and forth. Is he dreaming? A nightmare? And if it is a nightmare, can he still sense me here? If sitting here until my back is stiff would keep his dreams free of the monsters that never stop chasing him, I’d do it. I’d stay up all night to slay his dragons... and hopefully in time teach him that he can slay them on his own.
I wonder if he will ever know how his stories break my heart, or how his grateful grin at being cared for melts it all back together again, over and over a hundred times.

 If there is one thing I must achieve, it is convincing him that he deserves better.

Don't let anyone tell you that you're not brave.

We signed him up for Tae Kwon Do. It's excellent for focus, self-discipline, a positive place to put negative energy, and exercise.

He did not know what to expect. There were bellyaches and complaints.  He had a moment of sheer panic when my wife took him to visit the dojang. There were tears... and eventually he managed to articulate that he was afraid of getting hurt. More than that, he was worried that he would have to get hit and kicked over and over again in order to make him tough and brave. It was heartbreaking to hear because I know the fear comes from somewhere.

This morning, when I woke him to get ready for his lesson, he told me that he didn't think he could go because his stomach was "dead".  We had an early dinner last night, so he agreed to eat some oatmeal and see how he felt. He was just generally off... complained about his stomach, about the "monkey suit" that he had to wear... but he was talking and not just being grumpy or acting out. I pulled him onto my lap, and I told him that Tae Kwon Do is something that I think he will really enjoy. I reassured him that I would never take him to anyone I thought would ever hit him or push him to toughen up by beating on him, and that I would throw myself in front of him if anyone ever did (he found the mental picture of this pretty amusing). I asked if he thought he could trust me on it and see what happened. He reluctantly agreed.

The Master at the dojang is an older gentleman - soft-spoken, kind, and quietly insistent upon respect. He is exactly what the child needs.  I was so impressed with the way the little guy received the instruction, too - eye contact, full attention, and he has a natural talent. After about five minutes, his whole demeanor changed, and he was all smiles. He's actually good at it. If I can speak of such things in musical terms, his movements were staccato sharp. I was really impressed.

After the lesson, I told him how great he did during the lesson and how absolutely proud I am of him for taking a chance on something that made him nervous. "Don't ever let anyone tell you that you aren't brave. You had every reason to be scared today because of things you remember, and you decided to trust me enough to try something new. That's something even some grownups aren't brave enough to do."

His little face lit up, and he threw his arms around me and buried his face in my shirt. He stayed like that, squeezing me for some time.

There were a million unspoken words... half his, and half mine... and yet in those few moments, we understood each other perfectly.

I adore that little boy.

Fuzzy.

He has been hanging with my parents when I am at work (mostly half days this week while I am running around for school registration, coordinating health providers, etc). It’s a very early start - we need to be out the door by six. Usually he is chattering away by the time we leave the driveway. Today, he was out like a light within a few miles of leaving the house.
Neglected as he had been in terms of proper nutrition, he’s just a little sprite of a thing. I carried him in from the car... he startle-jumped when I reached for him, but once he realized it was me, he latched on tight and nestled into the shoulder of my down coat.
These tiny snapshot moments come and go. When was the last time someone just scooped him up? (and when was the last time he allowed it?). It is in these little moments of vulnerability that my heart swells the most.

Entry 1

"Finally, permanence!"

It is the first thing he said when I told him that he had been placed with us and would be living here with us from now on. He had worried that if he didn't find a family who thought he was "good enough", he would have to go to a group home.

He is nine and has been in foster care for over a year.  I will make no comment on his biological parents except to say that they have not done what they needed to do in order to prove that they are capable of raising him.

There are a thousand things I'd love to put down here, but much of what I record for him and for posterity will be privatized in order to protect his privacy and meet the regulations that have been set for me. I will not be able to post photos of his face.

I will also not give the details of what he has suffered. He has the right to tell that story in his time and in his way, and I will not betray his trust in me.

Most of this blog will be little snapshots of moments that give a glimpse into our world and into his growth.

I adore this little boy.