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.