Summer's end

Tomorrow is the first day of school, so Saturday was zoo day. The girls have been asking to go all summer so we finally arranged it -- we being their dad and me. Yes, I spent all day at the zoo with my ex-husband and our children. And it actually wasn't bad. We get along well, relatively speaking, and doing an outing like this is a lot easier now than when we were married and I was trying to make everything go perfectly all the time because I knew it wasn't perfect at all. 

So then today as a last hurrah I took the girls out for ice cream for breakfast. My friend Magda had the original idea and brought her two boys, and my sister brought her two boys. We went to the neighborhood ice cream/doughnut/dairy shop, and for 20 or 30 minutes the three adults were inside while all the kids were outside. They were directly outside the window where we sat, but for people walking their dogs or babies, it looked rather like vagabond children decided to wander down for ice cream at 9:30 in the morning. 

Tonight we went to my sister's new place for dinner with her and the boys, and Boo had an ear of corn, two spoonfuls of taco meat, and two pieces of apple pie. She wanted more pie but I refused on the grounds that I actually wanted her to sleep tonight. Mimi had a spoonful of taco meat, three sweet potato fries, and half a bag of Funyons. Obviously today was not a day for worrying about what they were putting in their mouths. 

Kids are fast asleep with clothes laid out and lunches packed (I'm organized at least one day of the year) and I'm contemplating tomorrow. I traditionally take a vacation day on the first day of school, and tomorrow is no exception. Nominally it's because I like to drop the girls off for their first day of the year and pick them up at the end of the day, whch is true. Also, however, there's all that time in between that I am COMPLETELY BY MYSELF. Granted, tomorrow I need to finish an article and do laundry and deal with the disaster that is my house, but I can do it without children following me around telling me they are bored and asking what there is to eat.        
   
In other news, I have a table this Sunday at the Kerrytown BookFest, which I highly recommend for anyone who likes books, geeky stuff, crafts, etc. I'll have crocheted amigurumi keychains, backpack clips, fascinators, toys, and whatever else I get done. My friend Kate will have also her magnets, prints, and notebooks for sale, and is participating in a panel about the history of Coney Islands in Detroit. So that's cool. You should come. 

Photosets later, on tumblr, and a post about the whole swimming thing.

Diving in

When last we spoke I went on at some length about this whole swimming thing. Since I've failed to post anything here between now and then -- although I have been busy elsewhere -- I thought it was time for an update.

We haven't started formal swimming lessons yet. Already by the end of May the classes that worked with our schedules were full for the first summer sessions. We're looking at end of July. In the meantime, we've been to various pools around town a few times, and things are going, well, swimmingly.

Mimi started out clinging to me or our friend Kate, whose apartment complex pool we've visited a couple of times. It's a perfect pool for the kids -- not busy, not huge, and the deepest point is five feet. And gradually, with the realization that she was not in fact drowning  -- and the fact that she was being shown up by her five-year-old sister, who splashes around in her floaty yelling "look at me! I'm in the deep end! I can do it by myself!" -- Mimi has lost much of her fear.

There was a lot of this the first time we went, over Memorial Day weekend. And I'll admit I spent a lot of time sitting on the side of the pool "getting used to it," as I told the girls, myself. Eventually Mimi got in and let Kate tow her across the pool and back, and proclaimed that it wasn't so bad. 

We went back this past Saturday. The girls were impressed that I hopped right in -- well, the water wasn't nearly as cold this time, and it was about a hundred degrees, so that does make a difference -- and they both got in readily. Mimi did spend the first five minutes or so clinging to my neck. Then she let me disentangle her and take her by the hands to tow her around. I gradually let go of her hands and before she knew it she was floating all on her own. Well, with the floaty, but that's a minor point. 

I practiced too -- I managed to float on my back all the way across the pool, and do a modified doggy paddle back. I even put my head underwater for a few seconds, because watching Mimi be brave made me feel a little ridiculous about freaking out for getting water up my nose. I didn't enjoy it, but I did it.

And then, almost before I knew it:

Yup. That's my girl who a month ago was terrified of water, happily ducking her head under. She did it about fourteen more times, and once she did it, Boo had to try it too. Boo wasn't as enthusiastic about it, but she wasn't squeamish, either. They paddled around underwater, poking each other and coming up spluttering, for a good twenty minutes.

So Mimi is now Boss of the Pool, and has happily declared that when she takes swimming lessons it will be awesome because she ALREADY KNOWS HOW TO PUT HER HEAD UNDER and maybe she'll even be a swimming racer someday! (We watched some of the Olympic trials.) 

The world doesn't hate you. Don't hate the world.

Dear daughters,

This is you being awesome

The world does not hate you.   

Look, everything in that post is true. The world is unfair. People can be horrible. A whole lot of the world, in general, thinks that being a girl is pretty much the worst thing you can be. So I'm not writing this to criticize the parent who wrote the above, or argue with anything she said. I admire her passion and her principles. I love that she teaches her daughter to go out every day and show the world how awesome she is. I like big chunks of that post, and the first time I read it, I thought "right on! Fuck 'em all!"

But I kept seeing it posted on facebook, by a lot of different moms. And I thought about it. It occurred to me I would express the same basic ideas rather differently, and I want to tell you why.

Granted, sometimes I want to say "fuck 'em." I have said it. When I get sick and tired of "girly" being used as an insult. When I get fed up with the "girl toys" and "boy toys" aisles at the big-box stores, or when I am frustrated because I have spent untold hours looking for appropriate Halloween costumes for your age. (This, by the way? NOT appropriate.) When I think about a culture that tells us motherhood is the most noble thing we can be, then doesn't support parents or families or children after they leave the womb, unless they fit into certain very specific, very gendered boxes.

You are 5 and 9 years old, respectively, and I shouldn't have to special order and pay $30 each for a pair of shorts that reach mid-thigh and don't have words written across your butts, or go to three or four stores in search of sandals in a size one that don't have heels. That makes me feel ill. A lot.

I could write several posts ranting about how utterly broken gender culture is in this country, about the messages we send little boys and little girls -- and big boys and big girls -- that can screw us all up for life. But that's not what I want to tell you about. You will find that out soon enough. And when you do, you will, I hope, be horrified, and refuse to buy into the conventional wisdom that your looks and your weight are your only source of self-worth, or lack thereof.

What I want to tell you, instead, is that the world loves you. I want you to wake up each morning knowing that you are utterly awesome, and that other people are too, and the world is a freaking fantastic place.

You will, of course, learn that there are people who treat other people badly because of things they have no control over: gender, sexual preference, appearance. There are people who are just bullies. There are people who want to make sure you stay in what they think is your place. You both have already started to learn that lesson, and there's no help for it. But you also know -- and I never want you to forget -- that there are completely wonderful people in the world, as well. Who help other people just because they can. Who give up their own comfort to make things a little bit more comfortable for someone else. Who will go out of their way to make your day a little bit brighter, for no reason other than that you both live on the same planet and it feels good to make someone else smile.

I'm not saying you have to be one of those people. Lord knows I'm not, not very often. I don't have that much energy and frankly I don't have that much self-sacrifice in me right now. But I want you to know they are out there. They might not outnumber the haters, but they are out there, and they love you.

And I'm not saying give up, accept unfairness and stereotypes and do nothing to change them. You can fight them, without hating the world that brought them into being. That world brought you into being, too.

Here's the other extremely important thing: you have nothing to prove to anyone. You go out and be awesome, because you ARE awesome, but if you don't want to be the one who proves that a girl can [fill in the blank] just as good, or better than, a boy, you don't have to. You didn't choose to be female, and you don't have anything to prove just by virtue of your sex.

You know that it's ok to like trucks, and motorcycles, and the color pink, and sparkly nail polish, and princesses and Transformers, whether you are a boy or a girl. You already know you can grow up to be anything you want to be. As long as you don't forget that you have a zillion choices, you don't have to be the one who makes the most radical choice. Someone will, eventually. If it's you, because that's what you want, fantastic. But if what you really want is to be a yoga instructor or a parent who stays home or an English teacher, then that's what you should do, instead. Don't do anything just to prove the haters wrong. Do what makes you happy.

Don't let people make you feel bad because you like to wear makeup or cry at sappy movies or collect Barbie dolls. And don't let people make you feel bad because you hate makeup and would rather sleep an extra 15 minutes, because you chop all your hair off and wear black nail polish, or because you would rather learn to rebuild an engine than sew a straight seam. Don't feel bad for wanting to get married and have children. Don't feel bad if you don't. Both are perfectly fine, valid choices. Frankly, just about anything you choose is just freaking fine, if you are choosing it because it's what you want. Not because you want to either a) conform or b) rebel just for the sake of fitting in or sticking out.

What I'm saying is, in my long-winded, god-mom-get-an-editor way, is don't go out every day thinking the world hates you for being a girl. Or for being anything that you are. Please don't. Because that will make you hate the world. You will grow bitter and angry, and you will do things just to spite the anonymous "them" who you think are telling you who you should be. Feel free to ignore "them" and do whatever you want, obviously, but don't do things just to spite "them." They don't actually care what you do. They only even exist because we give them any power to have any effect on us.

Look, I'm no Pollyanna. I know that political machinations will continue to make the world a difficult place for women. I know that some people will look at you and think "she's just a girl, what does she know?" I know that some people will judge you on the size of your breasts, not the size of your heart or your intellect. Someone someday will see you in a short skirt, or in sweatpants, and decide they know something about you because of your clothing choices. I know that at some point in the next 10 (20, 30) years, you will feel bad about yourself because of the way you look.

You know what? I'm almost 40. I'm divorced, renting a tiny house, driving a 12-year-old car, working in an underpaid, female-dominated field. This is not what I expected my life would be at this point. And still? I'm pretty sure that the world is an amazing, beautiful place. I don't feel it every minute of every day. Of course not. But on the whole. And I know that unless I let politicians, marketers, misogynists, and oversexed frat boys make me jaded and bitter, then I still win.

I want you to win, too. I want you to be awesome. Not to show anybody anything or teach anyone a lesson or to get back and anyone who said something hateful or mean or ignorant. But just because you are both amazing, wonderful, strong, loving, beautiful human beings. And I never want that to change.

This is you being awesome, too.

The walls go all the way to the floor, and some days that's all you can hope for

First day at Disneyworld: "Mom, today is going to be the BEST day. As long as I don't fall down."

Oh, Boo. My funny, frustrating youngest child. This morning she had a meltdown when I told her to stop threatening to poop on her sister and get dressed; I had to drag her out the door and into school, 10 minutes late, and she was fighting me every step of the way. Stubborn. So, so stubborn, so determined to show me that I can't make her do anything she doesn't want to do.

Extremely Local Politics

On Tuesdays, Boo has gymnastics. (Wednesdays Mimi has soccer, Thursdays we all have therapy. It's always something.) After gymnastics, because Tuesdays are also "kids-eat-free" days at several area restaurants, we usually go out to eat. This past Tuesday, though, I can only assume the kids were a little burned out on eating at sit-down restaurants after last week and requested McDonald's. I was too tired to argue the point, and also did not want to MAKE dinner, so we went to McDonald's.

Yesterday was also Michigan's Republican primary, and the giant flat-screen tv in the McD's dining room was tuned to CNN. The girls were paying no attention until they saw a map of Michigan appear, at which point they were all "hey! That's us! What is up with that?"

This is how I ended up explaining democracy (the Cliff notes version) over a Filet-o'-Fish.

I should have just shown them "America Rocks" instead.

Now For Something Completely Different

Last week I took my kids to Walt Disney World. The Happiest Place on Earth (tm). We were accompanied by my mom and dad, because I might be foolish enough to take my kids to Disney but I'm not fool enough to try to do it by myself.

I used a chunk of last year's tax refund to fund this trip. I'm only sharing this information because the fact that I have struggled financially before and since my divorce is no secret, and I heartily dislike when people question my actions on the basis of "can you really afford that?" because they think they know what my situation is. The information anyone has out there in cyberland about my finances is limited and incomplete, and all you really need to know is that I am able to pay my bills these days, so no worries. I've never taken my kids on vacation before, and this was an opportunity I may not have again for a long time, so I took it. Irresponsible, a little, maybe, but worth it.

The First Thanksgiving, by Boo (Imported post)

Boo tells the story of the First Thanksgiving:

They were in a BOAT. And they had to PEE, even on the boat. And lots of Pilgrims died. And they saw Indians. And they didn't have enough food to eat so they DIED. And I think they had 90 ... not the Pilgrims, those other people. The Indians. They had 90 Indians. And they didn't have enough to eat. So the Pilgrims went out and shot ... I think it was five deer ... Does that sound right? Five? And 90 Indians? So they could have enough food.

Meanwhile, Mimi writes a school essay about what she's thankful for.

I am thankful for my family. My sister is crazy but she is a good sister and I love her anyway. My dad helps me with my homework. My big brother is asome at soccer and I love him very much. My mom, she does very good cooking, I love her always. These are some ways I'm thankful for my family.

Mimi's not wrong about her sister, frankly.

We Will Survive (Imported post)

This is just to say massive thanks to everyone for listening and commenting. I took all your advice and internet-hugs to heart, and it has helped me to cope the past two mornings, when there was a giant fight about whose toothbrush was whose (REALLY?) and today, refusing to walk.

It seems obvious, doesn't it, that it would be something about school? And yet Boo seems to love school, by all accounts, and is almost always cheerful, if tired, when I pick her up at the end of the day. She's never said anything negative about school aside from complaining, after the first day, that they don't get naps. And my gentle prodding and flat-out asking if anything at school upsets her goes nowhere. She's not a kid who generally plays her cards close to the vest, so I have to think I'd know by now if there was something going on. All the same, conferences are next week and I'll be asking about her classroom behavior and any overall issues in the room.

Not seeing her dad on any regularly scheduled basis isn't helping, although why that should cause specific morning meltdowns I'm not sure. The girls do see him quite a bit, but various circumstances right now mean that we don't have a set two-afternoons-and-every-other-weekend schedule, or any variation thereof. And that's not good for either of them, so I do what I can to make sure everyone knows at the beginning of the week what's going on.

Then there's the fact the Mimi *is* doing so well. Boo has seen Mimi overreact and go nuclear on many an occasion, and now she sees her basically doing what I expect of her in the mornings. So it's possibly delayed reaction/imitation to something that's proven attention-getting? Will be trying to make more of a point of spending one-on-one time with Boo, as much as possible, although that is more difficult these days with the girls on the same school schedule and my work schedule being what it is.

Anyway, I have some ideas. And just putting it out there, and knowing that others have been through it and are pulling for us, helps me cope. I forget what a relief blogging is. It doesn't matter how many comments I get on a facebook post, it's not the same thing as sitting down and spilling my guts onto the keyboard and getting all this virtual love in return. I really must try to do this more often.

What About Boo? (imported post)

I need help. I am in dire straits here and I have no idea what to do. It’s Boo, is the thing. She’s supposed to be my “normal” kid (for what that’s worth) and right now, she’s the one that is giving me an aneurysm every. single. morning.

She’s a whiny kid. She just is. It makes me want to stab myself in the ears with my crochet hooks, frankly. I do all the things you’re supposed to do to break a kid of whining, including ignoring it, making her ask more politely and in a different tone of voice, using positive reinforcement like stickers and rewards for when she’s NOT whining, time-outs for massive tantrums and really improper behavior. Sometimes, in the immediate, these things work. But long-term, nothing has broken her of it, and in fact, it’s getting worse.

Now we’re at the point where every single morning is a battle. Last year, getting her out of the house for preschool was occasionally difficult and frustrating, but NOTHING like this year and kindergarten has been. We are late to school nearly every morning, despite the fact that I have taken to getting up two hours early and being completely ready to go before I get the girls up. I’ve moved her bedtime up so that she is getting, consistently, between 10 and 11 hours of sleep. We lay out clothes the night before, pack lunches the night before, have backpacks by the door ready to go. And yet. And yet.

It’s not predictable, but the kid knows how to push every single one of my buttons. Some mornings, she’s not hungry and cries at the mere mention of breakfast. Other mornings she’s STARVING and cries if I suggest getting dressed before she’s eaten something. Some mornings it’s asking her to put on her coat, or put her lunchbox in her backpack, or put on socks. There’s no telling. And there’s no warning, is the thing. She goes from zero to 60 in a millisecond. If I were nagging her to put on her socks, I could at least understand why she gets upset. But I’m talking about something like the following:

 Boo comes out of her room, dressed except for socks. Me, noticing this: “Oh, sweetie, you need to put socks on.” Boo immediately screams “I CAN’T FIND ANY SOCKS” or “I DON’T WANT TO WEAR SOCKS”, begins sobbing, and dashes back into her room and slams the door.

I think this is what I find most frustrating. Everything can be going so well, and then with no warning whatsoever, we’re in total nuclear meltdown mode. That’s what happened this morning. I was ready to go. Mimi was ready to go. Boo was ready, except that she had to put on her coat and pick up her backpack and lunchbox. She’d gotten distracted by a toy left out in the middle of the living room, and when I walked out of the bathroom after brushing my teeth and said “ok, everyone at the door” she started screaming at me “I’M DOING SOMETHING OK JUST A MINUTE.” With no warning, or provocation, or anything. Just screaming.

I walked over, plucked the toy out of her hands, CALMLY reminded her that mornings are not playtime, and told her to put on her coat.

“I’M NOT PLAYING I’M JUST LOOKING AT IT.”

“Whatever you are doing, it’s time to stop. We need to leave now so you can be on time for school.”

“JUST A MINUTE I JUST NEED IT FOR A MINUTE.” Screaming. Crying. I steer her to her bag and coat, on a dining room chair, and attempt to wrangle her into both. She fights me. I pick up the coat and say that ok, then, she can put her coat on in the car but it’s time to go. She screams that she wants her lunch box IN her backpack, and I reply that I will do that in the car. She starts crying. I start getting REALLY frustrated. She attempts to dash past me back into the living room, and I instinctively stick my arm out to prevent this because I know from prior history she’s headed to her room to throw a tantrum and this will cause further delay. Unfortunately, she runs into my arm neck first, and I catch her by the throat. So she starts crying harder. At this point *I* start crying, from sheer frustration and guilt that I have no idea how to help her.

I ended up sending Mimi to the car ahead of us, picking up the coat and backpack and lunchbox and half-carrying, half-dragging Boo out to the garage. I set her down to unlock the car and throw everything in, and there’s a melee about who is sitting in which car seat, at which point I just scream at everyone to get in the car, dammit, why do we have to do this every single morning? Can’t we just get out the door and be on time for once?

By the time everyone is in the car and buckled, we are all in tears. Poor Mimi, who has done every single thing she was supposed to in a timely fashion, gets upset whenever I get upset and tries to be sympathetic. “I’m sorry you had a bad morning, Mom,” she says. Which makes me feel guilty and makes me cry some more.

We get to school and Mimi dashes in just in time. Boo won’t get out of the car because her lunchbox isn’t yet in her backpack, so I have to park and drag her into school five minutes after the bell rings, both of us with red, swollen faces. Boo stands in the doorway to her classroom, while other kids stare at her, and her teacher asks her to come in and hang up her stuff. I am on the receiving end of yet another Look from the teacher.

I go back to the car and sob all the way to work. I get to the parking structure and spend another five minutes in the car melting down, trying to collect myself, and dabbing on the face powder I now keep in my bag because I am so often trying to cover the fact that I’ve been crying in the morning. I can’t focus at work. I feel horrible.

I feel like a terrible, terrible mother. I know I’m not. Mimi is doing so well. We’re going to therapy once a week. She listens. She follows directions, at least as much as the average eight-year-old. She hardly ever rages, she talks to me about her feelings, she acknowledges when she screws up. She apologizes when she has a regression and acts out. I’m so proud of her, and I have to think that some of the credit is due to how hard I’ve worked with her to get a handle on this.

Is it just that we’ve focused so much on Mimi’s issues that Boo is screaming for attention? I really thought we’d made a big effort NOT to leave her out. To make sure both girls get time with each parent and special treats and attention and cuddles. Boo snuggles with me at bedtime and we read a story and sing a song. She tells me “I love you Mommy” out of the blue, offers hugs and kisses, holds my hand when we’re out in public, says “please” and “thank you” and is so funny and awesome and smart.

And all that and more is why this morning thing terrifies me so freaking much. I cannot get a handle on it. She does this at other times, too, but mornings are the worst. Sometimes getting ready for bed does not go so well but usually I can stay calm and deal with that. It’s trying to get the three of us out of the house in the morning, fed and dressed and sort of on time, that stresses me out. I hate being late. I hate when the kids are late and I imagine the teachers shaking their heads and judging me, even if they aren’t. (I kind of think Boo’s teacher is, though. Gah, the Look.)

I hate feeling like the single mom who cannot manage her kids. One morning last week, I was so pleased because we were EARLY to school. Then after we got there we realized that no one had lunch money, I’d forgotten to give Mimi her medicine, and Lila only had rainboots and not gym shoes. This happens to the best of us, I know, but it happens to us All. The. Time.

I’m doing everything that has been suggested to me. Mimi’s therapist has given me advice about coping strategies in the morning, talking to Boo about expected behaviors, sticker charts, positive reinforcement, ignoring tantrums, time-outs, and on and on. Boo screams at me “stop TALKING TO ME!” when I bring up my expectations. She gets time-outs and loses privileges for that sort of rudeness, because I can’t allow it, but it doesn’t seem to stop her. Massive praise and rewards for good mornings, positive behavior and pleasant tone of voice doesn’t seem to give her any sort of incentive to keep it up. Nothing is working.

I needed to get this out. I haven’t blogged in ages and ages, and I don’t really have time anyway, and Facebook and Twitter are so much faster and more convenient and all that. But this is so much more than I can explain on any social media platform, is so much bigger than 144 characters, and I am just at a loss.
I’m not necessarily looking for advice. I just needed to put it out there. If you have a miracle solution, God knows I’ll try it, but don’t tell me, please, that she is seeking attention, acting out cause she misses her dad, needs therapy, or any of that stuff. I know all that. I know. I’m working on it. I’ve BEEN working on it.
And this is my “normal” kid. To cop a phrase, God said HA.

Two is Enough (imported post)

Today we went to the movies. Last night I promised the girls if they got along and didn't fight for the entire evening we could go today, and indeed, they managed to be civil for three whole hours until bedtime, so we observed Memorial Day by celebrating our freedom to pay exorbitant prices for inferior popcorn. We were waffling between "Rio" and "Kung Fu Panda 2" but then fortunately I got the word from some of my friends who are also parents that KFP2 would not be a good choice for Mimi right now.

(Side note: Dear Hollywood, could we effing PLEASE have a kid's movie not rife with abandonment/adoptee issues on some level? PLEASE? Because they turned up in Rio, too, although not as central, and really, I am tired of my kids asking what happened to various characters' parents every time we watch a movie.)

Apology accepted, kid

Mimi started taking a very very small dose of Pr*zac two weeks ago. I think we are starting to see the effects, here and there. She finished her homework last night -- I was able to talk her through a difficult spot and help her understand the concept without a gigantic meltdown, which has been a rare thing this school year. She seems more cheerful. She has slept through the night in her own bed at least twice this week.

But she also is extremely excitable and distracted, even more so than usual. I have to ask her five or six times to put her shoes on or turn off the tv or settle down so that we can sit down to dinner. Getting ready for school in the mornings has been a nightmare this entire week. Boo feeds off Mimi and copies everything she does, so there have been several mornings where I have dragged both girls out of the house, screaming, teeth and hair unbrushed, to deliver them to school 15 minutes late and arrive at work half-an-hour late myself.

She's not on any sort of ADHD med right now. We stopped all meds about a month ago to see if her anxiety level diminished. It did, a little bit, but not as much as the psychiatrist would have liked. So, the anti-depressant, which has been shown to be effective in small doses for anxiety in kids. But we didn't want to start any other meds at the same time, because we needed to be able to judge how this was working. She goes back for follow-up on Monday and I guess we will discuss all of this then and decide if she needs yet another medicine, or, you know, just some restraints. (Kidding.) (Sort of.)

I don't mean to imply that life with Mimi is always difficult, or always about her history of trauma. My lovely girl has a whole lot going for her and many qualities that make her lovable and fun to be around. At least half of my parenting with her is fairly, well, "normal" (whatever that is) -- did you brush your teeth, how was school, no, you can't have ice cream for breakfast, I love you too, no you can't have chocolate before dinner, thank you for helping set the table, stop bugging your sister, give me a hug, have a good day, listen to your teacher/dad/grandma. Etc. I don't think constantly about her adoption, and her life before that. Often, yes, but not all the damn time. More so lately, because it has clearly been on her mind more and she is definitely going through some processing of her history before she was adopted. And when she's processing, I know we are going to have a bad evening or night or following day.

The other morning the girls' dad came to take them to school so I could leave for work early. This did not happen, because the girls were being uncooperative screaming banshees, and I was frustrated and still needed to get ready for work myself. I made the poor decision to let M handle the getting-ready process so I could get ready myself. I got out of the shower and heard screaming. Poked my head out of the bathroom and saw Boo running around in her underwear, and Mimi eating breakfast in her pajamas. And M yelling at them both to hurry up. I got dressed and combed my hair and blow-dried and brushed my teeth and 20 minutes later, Mimi was still in her pjs, Boo was still in her underwear, and M was still yelling. I came into the living room to hear Mimi yell from the kitchen "I HATE THIS FAMILY! I HATE BEING IN THIS FAMILY! I WANT A DIFFERENT FAMILY! I AM GOING BACK TO CHINA!"

I've heard this before. I tend to take these outbursts with a grain of sale. Usually I say something like "Oooh, sorry to hear that. I would miss you if you went to China." It deflates her anger and makes her annoyed that I am not freaking out about her threats. M, however, doesn't always (or, to be honest, ever really) get that it's not personal, it's not really about hating us. It's just the only way she knows to express her frustrations and the way she knows will hurt us. It's the worst thing she can think of to say and every time she says it and I respond calmly and non-threateningly she feels that tiny bit more secure. M doesn't get this. He never has and I don't think he ever will. So he yelled something back at her like "Well I don't like this family very much right now EITHER."

Yeah, mature. I know. My point here is not to complain about M, although I could (that would be a whole other blog, with daily entries, footnotes, citations, etc.). It's to point out that despite Mimi's trauma, anger, rage, she feels safe enough at home with me to express it in words that have meaning and sense. She is processing her trauma and working through it and when calm is able to say things like "I bet my family in China misses me" and "Boo doesn't even have two moms. She just has one" (in tones of massive superiority) and "My brain is this way because this is how my mom and China made me." She's getting it. A little at a time, with lots of patience and discussion and moments of rage and everything else. If M could refrain from responding to her at a maturity level slightly lower than hers, we'd probably be making even more progress. Because she's starting to understand the things he says, too, and process them. And after she has outbursts, she is almost always sorry, and almost always apologize, unprompted. I can't say the same for M.

As we were leaving I calmly told M, "Don't come out in the mornings for a while." He snapped "I don't want to anyway." Later that night Mimi said to me "Dad doesn't want to come over because we weren't behaving." And I said, "well, Daddy and I both like when you girls listen to us and follow directions, and you definitely weren't doing that this morning. But it's not ok for Daddy to yell at you any more than it's ok for you to yell at us. And if he decides not to come see you then he's probably not making a good choice." We talk a lot about choices -- good, bad, difficult, etc. I want the kids to know they have control over some things (whether or not they lose tv privileges, for example, and if they choose to go to bed RIGHT NOW or in half an hour. Heh.)

Oh and the apology? Five minutes after her outburst, she said to me "I'm sorry I hate this family. I'm sorry I hate Dad." I started laughing. Tension diffused, just like that.

What's Going On With Us

I don't know if anyone missed me, or what, but since it seems I am blogging again, I thought I'd do a nice little catch-up post. I haven't really blogged regularly since May of 2009, and kind of a lot of stuff has happened since then. Although you might mostly know this already, since I tend to overshare on Facebook. Anyway. In no particular order (neither chronological nor in order of importance):

I got divorced. I separated from M officially in December 2008, although things had been pretty much over for about a year before that. The divorce was final July 2010, which took longer than I might have hoped but was at least fairly drama-free, as these things go. It was delayed because we filed for bankruptcy jointly before we filed for divorce. M's years of unemployment and some poor financial decisions on both our parts had got us into a hole there was just no way out of. Our house went into foreclosure in the summer of 2008, and we moved into a rental, where I still live with the girls. The only way out of that was bankruptcy. So that all sucked, but it's done. I'm still on rather shaky ground, financially, since I'm not getting much in the way of child support -- M is working, but not making much more than minimum wage, and there's a support order in but sometimes I get the money and sometimes I don't. I'm managing (some months, just barely, and I have no savings or extra) and things are hopefully starting to turn around in that regard. Emotionally, I'm good. The girls have adjusted fairly well, all things considered, although it's an ongoing process. M is around a lot, takes them to school most mornings, and we get along well. But I'm making all the big parenting decisions and most of the little ones, and paying all the bills, and yeah. It's stressful.

Mimi is now in second grade. She'll be eight in December. EIGHT. Remember when I was blogging her adoption? That was six years ago. Seriously. I didn't blog any of her first grade adventures, and I feel kind of badly about that, but it was a tough year all around. Second grade has gotten off to a bit of a rough start, but things are starting to settle down. I hope. She's dealing with some major adoption-related trauma -- her dad not being around as much has predictably brought up a bunch of abandonment issues -- but we're getting through it. She's talking about it, which is huge. She blindsides me with it at bedtime or on the way to school, but she's talking. And because her dad's disregulation was contributing a lot to her own, she's also relaxed quite a bit in the past year. Developmentally, she's still a bit behind her peers in her class, but she's come such a long way. And she read TWO CHAPTERS of a Junie B. Jones book out loud to me last night. That is remarkable. I about cried.

Boo is in full-day preschool. Seriously. She can write her name and climb to the top of the monkey bars and ride a bike with training wheels. And she will be four next Sunday. Thankfully. Because three has been extremely difficult for her and for me, and while I know she won't magically be a reasonable person next week, I can hope that the combination of being FOUR and being at school all day will turn her into more of a human being and less of a wailing banshee-child. She already has a friend, whose name she actually shared with me, and this is a big deal. Because last year at daycare, where she was two to three days a week, all day, she pretended not to know any of the other children. For MONTHS.

I started tango lessons. I'm still doing this, although not as frequently only because my schedule is all effed up right now. I love tango. I have shoes I wear just for dancing. This is remarkable, trust me, and I will be writing more about this.

I started dating. Kinda sorta. With varying degrees of success. And dealing with quite a bit of emotional that the whole oh-right-I'm-single-now thing brought up. That's an entire post in and of itself. More than one. But for the moment things are going kind of well in this department, and that's all you're going to get. For now.

I made it into the Regretsy book. Because I make these chapstick cozies, see, and sell them on Etsy. And then I made a whole bunch of them for a Regretsy book signing and the photos made it onto several mainstream sites. Never would have guessed I'd get my 15 minutes due to crocheted genitalia.

I think that's kind of the highlights. I traveled a bit for work-related conferences and classes -- Chicago, D.C., Charlottesville VA, Philadelphia. I crocheted a lot. I wrote a little. The girls and I all watched too much tv. I got drunk. I kissed some boys (sometimes while drunk). I lost a couple of friends, and made new ones. Just, you know, life. And stuff. And so now I'm back. Yay!