Fashion, friends, and food poisoning

1) So Mimi is nine and starting fourth grade and she doesn't give a crap about her clothes. By which I mean she has certain items of clothing she likes, and some she doesn't, but she has no sense of whether things match or if she is wearing two different socks or whatever. I admire this about her but also, I'm worried that she's getting to the age where people start to notice this stuff. I clearly remember getting teased in fourth grade because I was the same way and this one time I had on pants that were totally too short. Some girl laughed because I was wearing "floods" and I didn't even know what that MEANT. 

So I guess I'm debating whether and how to bring this up with her. I know she'll get teased eventually because most of us do, and I don't want to make her self-conscious when she isn't, but I don't really want her to get teased if it's something I can help with. 

2) I'm now friends with my ex-husband on facebook. It seemed kind of silly to keep sending him pictures that I'd already posted and since we do things together with the girls so often, and for the most part get along, it just seemed pointless not to be. Of course this means I will have to be more careful about filtering posts but I should do that anyway.

3) I got food poisoning of some sort last week. I know this because I ended up at the doc on Friday after some, uh, slightly worrying symptoms. I was feeling a little better and had a table at Bookfest yesterday, which went really well, but I also ate a sandwich for lunch while I was there and apparently that was a mistake because last night I had massive nausea and ick again. 

Also due to being ill I wasn't as prepared for Bookfest as I would have liked and nearly sold out. But the good thing is that gives me a great idea of what will go over well when I do Liberty Local at the end of October. I need to get crocheting. The Oods in particular were a big hit. Also the tiny cell phone charms. 

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.) 

Just keep swimming

I made a deal with Mimi last night. If she will take swim classes this summer, I will too.

Here's the thing: I do not like the water. I mean, I like water, in general. I like taking long hot baths. I like looking at lakes. I like sitting by the pool. I don't really like being IN the water so much. Because I never learned to swim.

It wasn't totally for lack of trying. My mom took me when I was little -- I was a goldfish, or a tadpole, or something. And then when I was in maybe 5th or 6th grade, my mom signed me up for swim lessons at the local high school pool, and the swim teacher was this absolutely terrifying man who taught 6th grade at my elementary school, and I just remember him yelling at me because I didn't want to do something called the "dead man's float." (Which seems sensible, because why would I WANT to do something called that?) I didn't like it. I tried to get out of it. I told lies to the instructor, that my mom would let me sit it out if I paid her back for the money spend on the lesson. No one believed me, of course. I was terrified.

I made it through that course and even the required dead man's float test, but I don't know that I voluntarily ever got in a swimming pool again. Then in high school we had to take swimming as one of our P.E. requirements. That sucked, too. My class was divided into people who knew how to swim and people who didn't; the kids who did went down to the deep end and worked with the gym teacher on jumping off the diving board and learning new stroked. The kids who didn't? We stood around in the shallow end holding kickboards, feeling idiotic.

And after that, I never HAD to get in a pool again, until the summer Mimi was three and I was pregnant and I decided it would be a brilliant idea to take her to toddler swim lessons. I spent those standing the shallow end with her clinging to me like a baby monkey, refusing to let the instructor pry her legs from around my waist long enough to teach her to kick. Since a year earlier she'd screamed when we tried to put her in two inches of water in the bathtub, I actually considered this progress. We did a beach vacation that year too, up near Traverse City, and I think that was the last time either of us were at an actual beach.

Then I broke my foot (yes, at seven months pregnant) and Mimi's dad finished out the swim class with her. And I think that's the last time Mimi and a pool had any formal interaction. Boo was born in September; I had massive PPD and was back at work in six weeks and my marriage was dying and I was dealing with a newborn and a three-and-a-half year old who was having SERIOUS adjustment issues to having a baby sister, and a 13-year-old stepson who, ditto times two. Extracurricular activities rather fell by the wayside for a bit.

A year and a half later we moved to a house less than ten minutes walk from a community pool, and talked enthusiastically about how we'd spend the summer teaching the girls to swim etc. But the marriage was in its death throes and the soon-to-be-ex lost his job, and things really weren't going well at all. And after that, somehow, we just never got around to hitting the pool.

Last summer, at the new house, the girls set up their kiddie pool and the sprinkler in the backyard and were happy with that, although Boo mentioned learning to swim a couple of times. I didn't want to discourage her, but I also didn't really want to be the one to take her. And Mimi didn't want anything to do with the idea. Near the end of the August last year we accompanied friends to a local water park, and I realized how much of my trepidation I'd unwittingly passed on to Mimi when she backed out of the "Lazy River" tubing ride, which was something even I enjoyed. And she wouldn't go in the water without me, while Boo would have dived in and not looked back, despite her lack of actual swimming ability.

I put off thinking about this for most of the fall and winter, and now suddenly spring has morphed into summer as it tends to do in Michigan, and people are buying pool passes and talking about beach trips and making summer plans, and I realized I have to do something about this. So last night I brought up the idea of doing swimming lessons.

Mimi immediately buried her head under a pillow, as she does when she doesn't want to talk about something.

"NO. I DON'T WANT TO DO IT."

We talked about why not -- this is what therapy has done for this kid, she DOES eventually take her head out from under the pillow, with some encouragement, and use her words -- and she said she was scared. And that she was worried about going under the water. And that she would sink. So I told her that I was scared of the water too, and that I wished I had learned to swim. That I didn't want her and her sister to be afraid of the water like I was, and that it was really smart to learn to swim because then you can go in pools and lakes and boats without being scared. That it makes you safer -- she interrupted, at this point, that "then you can just swim to the shore if you're in a boat and it sinks, instead of waiting for someone to come rescue you," which, HI MISSION ACCOMPLISHED as far as indoctrinating the "learn to rescue yourself" lesson -- and she said that yes, she does want to learn to swim, but she's still scared.

So I said, "A lot of times bravery is being scared but doing something anyway." And we talked about examples of that. Learning to ride a bike. Taking a shower by herself (this was a recent accomplishment, and a Very Big Deal). Playing on the soccer team. I told Mimi she is the bravest person I know, who has done the scariest thing of anyone I have ever met, and she looked at me like I had no idea what I was talking about.

"Mimi, you got on an airplane with two people you had just met, who you were still a little scared of, and came to a different country where the language was different and the food was different and the people even looked different, and you let us be your family and take care of you."

She started to laugh. "But I was a BABY! I didn't know any better!"

And that made me laugh, too, but I pointed out that made it even braver, because we couldn't even explain to her what was going on, that she was two years old and that she could have decided not to love us but she did. She started to cry, and I started to cry, and she said, "Well, at least these are the kind of happy tears. It's not really SOBBING. That's when you're like ah, ah, ah, and your face is ALL WET." Heh.

So THEN we calmed down, and she said she was still scared of swimming, and suddenly this was about a lot more than heading down to the pool, so before I even thought about it, I said, "look, if you will learn to swim this summer, so will I." And her jaw totally dropped open, and I thought, oh, SHIT. And she hugged me, and told me SHE was proud of ME and that I was the bravest person she knows.

So, it looks like I'm learning to swim.

Frightfully busy

The last few weeks have been just a little busy. I fully acknowledge that I've been losing what little cool I had left on a semi-regular basis since early April, and I sincerely hope that now I will start to pull it together a little bit. I've weathered spring break, three craft shows, and the start of Mimi's soccer season, with only the rest of soccer, the end of the school year, Boo's gymnastics extravaganza, a weekend trip to NYC and a week-long trip to California to go before the end of June.

Oh, is that all?

Mimi's soccer team is the third-grade-girls' powerhouse, undefeated after four games. I feel a little sad for the teams that have to play them, to be honest. They've shut out two of their last three opponents. I know they are old enough to deal with losing and all, but I still find myself wanting them to at least score one time. This is why I am not a very good soccer mom. No competitiveness whatsoever.

Mimi in action

I had three spring craft shows in quick succession, all of which were mildly successful although not quite as much as I'd hoped. I have a lot of idea about how to fix the problems I discovered, however -- at least the ones within my control; being tucked in a back corner behind a large display of carved wood items at the last show was not within my control, and definitely hurt my sales. These things happen. 

I came up with some new items, as per usual with some suggestions by the lovely Kate of Chicaloo Photography. I'm always looking for new ideas, even though I have more than I could ever finish already in my head -- after all, I want to make what people actually want. So if you have any flashes of "someone should crochet THIS!" brilliance, do let me know.

I started making smaller octopi, and added keychain findings to make them useful. If you happen to really need an octopus keychain -- I mean, who doesn't -- the first one is listed in my etsy store here. I added mini coffee cups, strawberries, and ice cream cones for the most recent show, and they proved quite popular -- particularly among middle-school girls, unsurprisingly.

I made Captain Picard ("make it sew!" Hah. Groan.) quite by accident. And then I made a Viking, because, why not. 

A lot of people commented on my fried egg headbands, but sadly no one purchased any. Cowards. 

Everyone who picks up the ice cream cone pretends to lick it. Without exception. 

This is me. This is my table, and my sign, and my craft goods. And my boobs. 

What else? Going to work, hauling kids to soccer and gymnastics practice, the occasional date or social outing. It's been a mostly rainy, dreary spring ever since that one spectacular sunny week we had in March, and that has kept me feeling kind of blah. I haven't had much time to myself, and that hasn't helped. I keep hoping that the sun will come out and things will start looking up. It's not bad, right now, it just could be better. 

Oh, and I started a new tumblr. Meet Cute Animals. Bad Dates. I needed to do something with all the horrific online dating profiles I run across.

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.

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.

Why I'm Pro-Choice

(copied over from my tumblr.)

I made a comment on a friend’s Facebook post today that I am going to expand on here, because I have so much more to say. This post is emotional and more confrontational than I normally get, and if it offends you — well, it does. I’m not going to apologize for that. I do welcome honest and respectful discussion of differences. I don’t allow personal attacks.

Birth Day (imported post)

With the presents unwrapped and the cake eaten, tonight I can only think about a family on the other side of the world who are likely remembering that this day nine years ago they left their newborn daughter.

Someone -- mother, father, grandmother, we will likely never know -- left her, from everything that I know and believe to be true, somewhere safe, somewhere she would soon be found. But she was left, and they have no way of knowing that tiny infant, less than a day old the last time her mother saw her face, is now so loved, safe and warm, snuggled in bed asleep between her sister and her giant panda pillow.

That baby girl waited 27 months from that first day until she had a family again, and despite that this amazing, complicated, resilient, remarkable child has a smile that lights up the world. A smile her first mother has never seen.


Thank you, unknown family, for the daughter we share.

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.

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.

surprise

Mimi has a weekly writing assignment for school. She knows about it on Monday but we usually end up doing it, of course, on Thursday. Before we could even get started on homework tonight, she had a massive meltdown that involved yanking my hair, which hurt badly, and hiding under a blanket on the couch screaming that she hated herself, that she didn't want to be her and that she didn't want to be from China.

She calmed down and, as she tends to do, went on to do her homework like we hadn't just had a 45 minute screaming fit at the thought of it. This week's topic was "write about a time you were surprised." After some thought, this is what she wrote.

I forgot my umbrella yesterday so I was surprised when it rained. Another time I was surprise when my mom and dad came to pick me in China! I was surprised because I was two and I never seen any body with blond hair before. And brown hair too!

It made me think of this picture, which Mimi's dad took in the elevator in our hotel. She screamed and screamed the first couple of times we went in the elevator (but we were on like the 12th floor, so, sorry babe, but we're taking the elevator) until she discovered the mirrored back wall. Then she loved it and wanted to go in the elevator all the time.

Oh, my baby. So tiny. So scared and surprised. I wish we could find a magic mirror for you again.

Surprise!

Make It Better

 

I kind of forgot to blog this week. Here's a picture instead. 

Ok, fine. I didn't actually forget. It's been a rough week all around and every time I thought about writing about it, I found something else I needed to urgently do ... You know, emergency Etsy Treasuries, complaining on Twitter about the use of the word "soda" on Detroit 1-8-7, and downloading free Tetris apps onto my fancy new phone (which was fairly cheap since I was due for an upgrade, and is PINK, which makes my daughters ecstatic).

I've spent most of the past couple of weeks dealing with Mimi and her needs. Not unusual for parents. Really not unusual for parents of special needs kids. (That link, by the way, goes to a wonderful site, essential reading for anyone parenting a child with special needs.) The thing is, see, it's really hard to write about your kid's special needs and biweekly doctor's visits when those needs are psychological and the visits are to a psychiatrist. It's hard to write about the bedtimes when when your kid says "I hate being me" and "I wish I wasn't born" and talks about the people in her head who make noise all the time and keep her from being able to sleep. Or how when asked about her biggest worry, your kid draws a picture of herself in jail. It's hard to think about putting your 7-year-old on Pro*zac, never mind write about it. Rit*alin, ok. Lots of kids take ADHD meds. We talk about ADHD a lot, and kids on the autism spectrum. These are things people are starting to understand in children. But a clinically depressed, chronically anxious 2nd grader? People start to look at you, as a parent, a little funny. What's this mom doing wrong that her kid is DEPRESSED? (Must be the divorce. Or you know, those adopted kids, you never know with them.) What does a 7-year-old have to be depressed about? 

Well, a lot, it turns out, and nothing that I did "wrong" made her this way, but it's what we're dealing with, and it sucks all around. It sucks for Mimi, of course, most of all. But it sucks for me, too, and for Boo. It is really hard to live, never mind talk or write about. I come home from work most days, and spend four to five hours dealing with Mimi's needs, meltdowns, behavior issues, and moods, while trying to love her as much as I can and make sure Boo isn't completely ignored in the process. The other day I spent nearly a full hour walking back and forth between the bathroom (where Boo was taking a bath) and the girls' bedroom (where Mimi was supposed to be doing homework -- one math sheet with four questions on it  -- but was actually screaming, throwing her pencil, spinning around and around in the desk chair, crying, whining, and tearing paper into teeny shreds), dealing with their needs in 3-minute bursts. Bathroom -  bedroom - bathroom - bedroom -- they are about nine steps apart, but I felt like I was running a marathon. Some nights it's homework, some nights it's whatever I made for dinner that she doesn't feel like eating, some nights it's when I say "no more tv" and turn off the set, some nights it's nothing at all that I can discern but something awful is happening in her head and that's enough.

It's not all bad, and I don't mean to suggest that what we're dealing with is any worse than what many other parents go through. There's still this stigma, however, to mental and mood disorders, and so often we still are too squeamish to discuss them openly. Especially when it comes to children. I struggled with whether to post this or not, because after all it's not my issue, it's Mimi's. She doesn't seem to mind talking about it -- in fact, recently, she's become quite verbal and open about it, and for the first time is really finding the words to describe what goes on in her head. I want her to be matter-of-fact about it, and so we say things like "some kids wear glasses because their eyes need help to work right. Some kids have leg braces or wheelchairs to help them get around because their legs aren't as strong. Some kids take medicine to help their brain figure things out a little bit easier, or help them feel better." But it's different, of course it's different and she knows it and so do I, because no one wants to think about a 2nd grader with crippling anxiety and mood disorder.

So I'm posting, so you know. It happens, kids DO get depressed, seriously, life-changingly so, and if we don't talk about and do something when they are little, or whenever things start to get bad, then

we raise people unable or unwilling to share the hard stuff, other people unable to deal with people who are not like them, people who can't cope with their own feelings never mind take into account what other people might be going through. And ultimately we get bullies, and kids afraid to go to school, and kids who won't talk to their parents, and parents who don't see their kids' emotional pain, and middle schoolers and college freshmen, beautiful young people who could change the world, we get these kids hanging themselves and jumping off bridges because they have no hope that things will ever get any better.

It will get better. Whatever I have to do to make it better for Mimi, I will do. And I hope that talking about it can help, a tiny bit, make it better for someone else.

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!