The Crab Chronicles

Dealing With Attention to a Limb Difference

I saw a post on one of my Yahoo groups the other day and it affected me greatly, because Michael deals with some degree of self-consciousness about his limb difference every time he goes outside our home. I seldom think about it, but he is reminded of his difference all the time.

The Yahoo group is for adoptive parents of children with limb differences. I asked the post's author, Jim DeWees, for permission to excerpt here what he said, and he kindly agreed. Jim is a single dad, and lost part of his leg to frostbite a few years ago. He has a son with the same limb difference as Michael. So Jim can totally understand how it feels to have to encounter stares and comments about being a person with a limb difference, and he has a great way of dealing with the attention.

"I adopted a son from China a little over 2 years ago. He is missing his right hand at his wrist joint, and has little fingers there on the ball of flesh where his hand should be.

He is turning 8 on Saturday, and it aware of his "difference" and deals with it really well. He went through a period where he really tried to hide it when we were in public, and at times will still do that if he notices kids looking at it, or staring at his little hand.

Many times we have been in places like the Children's Museum, or in a line at Disneyworld, or any public place, and children have asked questions like "What happened to his hand?" or "Where's his hand" or things like that. At first, the natural response would be to snap back at them and make them feel bad or hurt, but that doesn't really fix the situation.

I also have a prosthetic leg, and have had it for about 12 years now (after an accident in 1998), and so I can relate to Cameron's situation and have an advantage here, because I can always divert the kid's attention from Cameron to my own prosthetic leg. My leg isn't cosmetic at all, no skin or cover on it. I make prosthetics for a living and so am basically surrounded by amputees every day, all day, and it is just a "way of life" now. I have many different legs, and the one I wear the most is orange. The next favorite one is yellow, then I also have one with Mickey Mouse on it when we go to Disneyworld or Disneyland. I also have a black running leg, swimming leg, a red one, blue one, etc....

So I ask the curious child, or adult at times, if they have ever seen a prosthetic leg or anyone that wears a leg....and they generally say something like "On TV" or something. Or some will say that there is a kid at school with something, or a cousin has some issue of some sort, and start a small conversation with them.

Also, another BIG help is I will ask the child if they have seen Finding Nemo, and remember how he had his lucky little fin??? Well, this is Cameron's lucky little hand, and that makes him special, but it doesn't slow him down or anything.... .

The children always say, Oh Yeah, I remember, and then will say "Cool, that's really cool". And, then Cameron is like a proud little kid again, and goes away from this thinking that he is really special and that it's all ok.

Nobody ends up with hurt feelings, or feeling like a special moment or time was ruined by someone who was curious, or even rude.

In all honesty, in the past 12 years with me dealing with wearing a prosthesis, and having been all over the world (literally), I have had SO MANY situations where people are curious about my leg, and some will ask, some will just stare....some are polite and decent about it, and others are just not "socially gifted" with knowing what to say or being polite....although I have never come across anyone that has intentionally tried to be rude or insulting.

I have taken the time, many times, to gently educate a curious child about this, and turn it into a positive, teaching moment. And that has really been a great way to help this society get over some of the social hang-ups and issues.

I am NOT saying that what anyone has expressed here are "wrong" or "bad". I can totally understand this. There have been times when I have been kind of cranky or in a rush, or upset by something, and the last thing I needed was some kid making some comment, and then hear the parent say something like, "Don't look at that, or don't talk to him, or don't point", and it is usually the parent that is the one to blame for these situations. They should know better, but they are the ones with the problem..... and so I understand at that point of wanting to make some smart-a.... comment back to them, but I have refrained. The ONLY time I can remember making a comment to anyone was when I was in China, and they called Cameron a "Damaged Child" and asked why I would come all the way to China, and pay so much money for a damaged child.....and so I asked this woman (who was of the upper class of society there, and spoke perfect English) is she thought I was also Damamged and worthless... and she said, Yes, and she wondered how I could provide for myself and a child....

Boy, I came unglued with her, and told her that I live in a house that is bigger than she could ever possibly own in China, and that I make more money in a year than what most people in China make in their lifetime, and that Cameron's future is totally wide open, and there are NO limitations in MY country for him, people won't even care or notice anything about his hand, and the sky is the limit for him in the USA....SO, I was adopting him to get him out of the awful, cruel society of China, and taking him to a wonderful place to live. She was kind of shocked, and taken back by my remarks. I also went on to say that the reason I am adopting him is because he is probably smarter than she is, and also he has a much bigger heart in him that she did, and I can't stand the thought of this child being thrown away as garbage in their country. In fact, he is the LUCKY one on that train, because he was born with an issue, and abandoned, and that is his ticket to get out of that country.

Well, I don't HATE China by any means. And I don't hate their culture or society..... BUT, I do not like most of the attitude of these foreign countries who still have labels and reject anyone that has a difference like this.

But, we need to remember that it wasn't too long ago in the USA when anyone with a difference was basically put in a place out of sight and in an institution. They used to have "Homes for Crippled Children", for any child that needed braces for his/her legs, or who was missing limbs, or had spinabifda, etc. It has been in the last 50 years where the USA has become more tolerant or accepting of people with differences.

OK, enough said I think. But, I encourage you to all take the time to help educate the people that have questions and all. It is going to take another generation for people to understand about prosthetics and missing limbs, and the children today can grow up realizing that using a prosthetic limb doesn't mean that the person is less than equal or anything.

Take the time to use the Nemo comment, and that this is his lucky leg or lucky arm/hand... that usually breaks the ice and makes the conversation and situation turn to a positive situation.

If I got offended or upset everytime someone looked at Cameron or me, and made a comment or asked.....I would be upset most of my life, and EVERY outing we have had would have been a bad experience.. ..

So, I try to make everything more positive.

I really hope this helps and doesn't offend anyone.

Thanks and good luck."

Jim DeWees

[FINAL NOTE: If you are on Facebook, friend me and I will send you an invitation to join the group on there for parents of children with limb differences, if that's your situation too.]

The Champ

We’ve had the first real day of fall weather. It was COLD out there.

 

I took the kids to the DeKalb Farmers Market this morning and they were unenthusiastic when they walked in. It’s cold, and there are all kind of odd smells wafting about. As soon as they saw the ladies giving out free sampled of bread, though, they were glad they had come. We ended up getting challah, brioche, and a baguette. We got a few veggies, including some lovely Boston bib lettuce, and some nice strawberries and raspberries, but the produce area was just stacked with people.

 

One thing I detest about going to the Farmer’s market on Saturday are the wall-to-wall yuppies. There are people there with kids in strollers that cost more than my car. The guy ahead of us in the checkout line had all his groceries in those bring your own grocery bags made of recycled materials, and before walking out the door he SNEERED at me and the kids, like, look at me, I am so SUPERIOR to you! Then I bet he got in a big ‘ol gas guzzling SUV.

 

I recycle every plastic bag that comes into my house!! I wanted to yell at him.

 

The big news is that Michael had his first singles match on his tennis team, and he WON!! He was playing really well. I was so delighted and yet stressed out, watching him. It was freezing and the wind was fierce.  It was a close match, but that’s good, he had to be on his toes.

 

To celebrate, we went to an amazing restaurant called Fire of Brazil over in Dunwoody, with cousin Lesleigh. They have the most elaborate salad bar ever, and the best roasted meats. You pay one price and eat what you want, except for drinks and desserts. It was not a cheap dinner, but it was fun.

 

 

Before we read Harry Potter [on book 5, which so far is my least favorite book, I must say] Michael told me he thought the boys he knows on his tennis team are all weak, soft, not good fighters. They aren’t rough boys. Not like the boys he was used to in Kazakhstan. I pointed out that these boys come from middle class homes, and they have never been hungry, or cold, or had mamas that were drunks, drug addicts or prostitutes. They’ve never smoked or drank beer. They don’t have to fight to survive. They are good boys, though, from nice families. Mike is attracted to being friends with boys from tough backgrounds, at school. He is starting to understand that he is different in so many ways from most of the boys he’s around.  However, I told him he is being raised in a nice, solid middle class home, even if we don’t have a lot of extra money. I told him that although inside he will always be a Kazakh boy, he is now an American boy, too, and he needs to understand and embrace that.

 

I told him he is free to look and act like a bad boy up to a point. The point he’s not allowed that is that I won’t let him go to the homes of friends from school who are not from what I consider wholesome families. He knows that already. He has never asked. However, I have told him he can have any friend over to our house that he likes.  

 

My kids have to come to grips with such a huge disparity in how they were their first 13 years or 10 years, in Russia and in Kazakhstan, and being nice middle-class kids now. I think they both struggle with that. They feel different. They have had such hardship and seen so much, that it’s hard to fit in with soft middle or upper class kids around here, who have no idea what it’s like to be raised by an alcoholic and be cold, hungry, etc.

 

We have stopped therapy but I wonder all the time if we need to resume it. I think in the long run my kids just need to find their own way to be in this world, and all I can do is let them express their feelings and try to understand and support them. I pray a lot, too…

 

  

 

Here's Mike playing in his tennis match. / Below, Les and Alesia at the restaurant.

 

 

 

Reflecting on How Far They Have Come

Sometimes I think about the journey that has brought my children here to America, and I am overwhelmed. I met with Michael’s teachers today and with the counselor about his 504 plan [minor modifications due to his missing hand]. I was later browsing through some adoption books on the Tapestry site and I thought my God, what a long journey they have made.

Michael told me last night the only time he got decent coats in Kazakhstan was when outsiders came to the orphanage. He was always cold there, and he stayed sick a lot. He was cold and malnourished. Alesia and Michael both had to scrounge for clothes and wore things that were ragged and worn, and never the right size, and they only got clean clothes once or twice a week.

My children left behind everything that was familiar, and came to a place that was like another planet. Russia and Kazakhstan are much like 3^rd world countries.The poverty my kids knew was severe. America is clean, warm, and nobody abuses them here. They sleep in a bed all their own here. They get food and vitamins every day. Those facts alone are a total contrast to the world they had known.

I will never forget the tiny, white, scared little boy that came home with me in 2007. He was smaller than the first graders I taught in vacation bible school that summer. He clung to me fiercely when I had left him and got home. Now he is a growing adolescent, almost as tall as me [he grew almost an inch in the past two months] but he still has times, every other day or so, when he just wants to be held. All the affection he missed, I am trying to replace, and that’s OK. That’s my privilege.

 

With Alesia, affection is much more difficult – she was rarely ever hugged until age 12. She has asked me for a hug maybe half a dozen times in nearly 5 years. It’s tough for her with me, although she hugs her friends.

 

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by simply this sad fact: my kids walked out of their orphanages with everything they owned in one small plastic bag, the size of a grocery bag. There were no toys, no family photos, no keepsakes, nothing. I have no medical on Alesia from before age 6. I only have medical on Michael because the social worker at his orphanage gave me the small booklet containing all his medical notes since birth after I specifically asked. 

 

Michael’s teachers today all said the same thing; he is doing well, and he is a smart, good boy. He just needs to be more proactive in asking for help if he doesn’t understand. He is shy about that. I explained to them that there are still a lot of words in English he doesn’t know, and he also usually needs extra time on writing assignments. I also explained that the words “hurry up” often freak him out.

I told them about Michael doing an entire science project yesterday on his own, on the computer. I helped him get started, but then I had to deal with a phone repairman and start dinner. When I went back to check on him, it was done, and done well. They don’t realize what an immense achievement that was for him.

In Kazakhstan he never had to do projects in school. He couldn’t use a computer for schoolwork. The first project he ever had to do here, I pretty much did it for him, a poster about Africa. It has taken a lot of time and patience to get him to be able to do his own projects.

It pains me to think about the children still in the orphanages. It keeps me awake at night sometimes. I see their faces.

I have advocated for several children to be adopted, since I finished my adoptions. One boy just came home a few weeks ago. He was adopted by a very loving couple and he should be fine, with a bit of extra help. He is 14. Few people are willing to adopt a 14 year old boy. Few people are willing to adopt a 13 year old girl, or a 10 year old handicapped boy.

Few people will ever know the amazing love these children have to give, and their unbounded potential, and that’s the real tragedy.

Maybe I am naïve. Maybe the fact that my kids are relatively easy to manage distorts my view. We’ve had challenges in my house, but what parent doesn’t have challenges? I know other parents have a terrible time with older adopted kids, in some instances. The media loves to focus on the horror stories. The good stories aren’t news. I just wish more people would give these kids a chance. You often hear only the negative stories.

There are many stories out there of families who have successfully and happily adopted older children. I wish I could start a website dedicated to people who adopt older children and have good outcomes. Not a “hearts and flowers” type of site, but a site with practical information and resources, and inspiring stories.  Maybe one day I can find the time and funds to start such a website. Until then, recounting my journey here will have to suffice.

Try Not to Set The House on Fire

Such a full day yesterday, that I actually fell into bed at 11. Didn’t even finish a full chapter of Harry Potter.

I went to lunch with the entire office (all 4 of us) yesterday at a terrific little barbeque place called Jim & Nick’s. They have these mini cheese muffins they put on the table that are sooooo sinfully delicious. It’s so nice to work in a tiny office, where lawyers and staff can just relax and visit together over lunch.

As soon as we got home, we headed to Sams. I was advised by my computer guy to get the Norton Systemworks anti-virus program, and Sams has the best price on it. I am going to install it today, if I can figure out how to dismantle the old one and install this one.

Sams is a wonderland to my kids. So many free samples beckon to them. In fact, when I told Michael about going there the other day his face lit up and he hollered “The sample place! Yessss!”

Of course, we found a lot of other things, too. We really should go more often, because we are careful to only buy things we use, and we save money.

 

I had Alesia put in the frozen pizza into the oven – I was too tired to really cook last night. I went down a little while later and thought it was very strange that there was smoke pouring out. Alesia had put it in there WITH the cardboard circle still underneath it! I tried hard not to blow my top. I showed her where it says on the box to remove the cardboard. Thank God I was in the kitchen, because she could’ve started a fire. Yikes.

 

 

Here's Alesia in Helen Georgia. I like this for two reasons. One, that's her un-strightened natural hair, which is beautiful. Two, it shows some of the architecture of Helen - it's meant to look like a German village, and it mostly accomplishes that.

 

RANT

I looked at Adoption Under One Roof article about children in Africa yesterday and got so mad at an article about children orphaned by AIDS in Africa. There are 15 MILLION of them! They are starving to death, many of them. What is Unicef doing? Very little. One thing they are definitely not doing is making it easier for the children to be adopted internationally. Ethiopia is thinking about closing all adoptions, for example. UNICEF has the official position that the children should stay in their birth country.

I always thought UNICEF was a great organization, but lately I have seen a lot of criticism of UNICEF from folks in the adoption world. This really disturbed me:

“Unfortunately UNICEF is anti-intercountry adoption and will watch children die before they will help promote legal and ethical adoption. To date they have done everything in their power to shut down adoption in third world countries without providing any new solutions. Allowing a few thousand children a year to be adopted from any of these countries would not rob any country of their upcoming generation as their chance of survival in that country at this time is miniscule. Through adoption many of these children will probably grow up with the desire to help their fellow countrypeople when they are adults.”

I left a comment and asked what I could do and someone suggested joining the JCICS - the Joint Council on International Adoption. I am going to do that. I wish I could do more.

Two Little Boys

I belong to a Yahoo group for Single Moms who have adopted from Russia. It's a close group, a real gathering of cyber friends, and we are very active. One of our members, Angie, recently started working for Adoption Ark, the agency I used to adopt Michael. They are a wonderful agency.

One of the moms in the group, not Angie, posted recently about two toddler boys that are available in Russia. They are brothers. She couldn't adopt them, but she is trying to find them a family. Boys usually don't get adopted, which is so sad.

Ruslan, age 3, has a club foot or issue with one leg, Pavel, age 2, is healthy. They have a $10K grant if anyone is interested in adopting them. They are in the Kemerovo region.

She goes on to say:
  "I met both boys the end of October and tried to adopt Ruslan, but my home study agency wouldn't approve me for 2 unrelated boys (I was approved for 2 siblings) as I had already had a referral for my son, now home one month. Both boys are beautiful, light haired and very similar looking."

A club foot is something that's usually not difficult to get corrected here in the US. In Russia, however, it may never be corrected, and children with a deformity are often warehoused in an orphanage for the disabled, and not available to adopt after age 5 or thereabouts.

If you or someone you know would be interested, please contact me. I will be glad to pass along Angie's contact information. The fee reduction is substantial, and you may not know this but for each child you adopt, there is a $12K tax credit you can take for the year they come home. That really defrays the expenses.

If nothing else, please pray these sweet little boys find a loving home.

Different Cultures

We were in the car last night outside the restaurant where we had just had dinner, and Michael complained that his upper lip was swollen. It was swollen, a little. I am not sure why, maybe just a small allergic reaction to something. It later went down.

After a minute, he said "This reminds me of when I used to get hit in the face. I remember one time I was talking or something, outside an apartment with some people, and my mother hit me in the face hard, and my mouth bled and my lip swelled up."

I didn't know what to say. "I am so sorry that happened to you," was my lame response. I was not able to hug him right then.

Maybe it's the stress of starting middle school, but he is remembering a lot more these days, and talking about the memories. I asked him if he thinks a lot about that time with his birthmom, and he said no, just sometimes. She was very abusive to him. She hit him so much it's in the medical records - he had a lot of hematomas on his face and head.

He came from a culture where it was OK to hit children, and I have talked to him hard about the fact that I don't agree with that and I won't ever do that to my children. I was spanked a few times as a child [like most people of my generation] and I remember the rage and humiliation of it, and I won't do it to my kids. They have been through enough hell.

What started me thinking about culture and how it impacts us is this really excellent article about a woman who was adopted from Taiwan as a baby, and her struggle to understand both cultures. It's such a good article I am going to give it to Alesia to read.

I don't talk about it much here, but culture informs everything we do. Alesia is very American most of the time, but unlike most teens, she wants plenty of family time and mama time. She never got that in Russia. She isn't asking me to go to the mall or go to parties very often. I have never forbidden it, just let her know my criteria for what's acceptable. There will be time for all that when she is a bit more mature.

Michael has almost no accent, and he wants a Wii, and a cell phone. He seems more American in most every way.

Yet, I sometimes have to remind myself that both my kids spent the first 10 years of their lives in a foreign country, and that will always be part of them, whether they choose to look back fondly or fearfully, or ignore it altogether.

Alesia said not long ago that part of the reason she likes hanging out with other girls adopted from Russia or Ukraine is that they understand what it's like to be adopted as older kids, having suffered a lot of neglect and/or abuse in their birth countries. That's something no American child can really understand. I encourage those friendships. It's like my parents' group, MAPREC - only adoptive parents who have adopted from Russia and Eastern Europe really understand that particular kind of journey, although I certainly feel a kinship to all other adoptive parents.

One thing I have tried to do with my kids is help them be proud of their dual heritage. I have told Alesia if people pester her about her accent she can just say "I am American but I was born in Russia." I have told Michael that the evidence of his racial heritage, which is certainly Russian but also most likely a little bit Kazakh, is not a stigma here. (In Kazakhstan, being of mixed race is not a good thing, and he was upset when I first suggested it.) Alesia's eyes and skin lead me to suspect she may be part Nanai, the Asian natives of the area where she was born. Nearly every person I know is of mixed race or ethnicity. I myself am English, Scottish, Irish, French, and Cherokee, and lord only knows what else.

Fascinating stuff, culture and race. I don't know if this post makes any sense, but if you are an adoptive parent, you should read the article I linked. I think you will find it fascinating.

 

Alesia drew this just before she came here.

Getting Out of One's Own Way

It’s been a quiet day. We went to Kroger and bought groceries. I later let Alesia drive to the drug store to pick up a couple of things we forgot at Kroger.

 

Michael and I read 3 more chapters. We are nearly finished with the first Harry Potter book, and we only started a few days ago.

 

I had a confrontation with Alesia about her computer access. I won’t go into details, but suffice to say, I found myself trying to convince her she’s a good girl. Being in the orphanage, and being the victim of so much abuse, has almost destroyed her self-esteem. It’s heartbreaking.

 

“Alesia, you have it all. You’re beautiful, smart, and a good person, a kind person,” I told her. I wanted to say Get Out of Your Own Way! But I knew she wouldn’t understand that expression. Recovery from all her issues won’t happen quickly. I do sense we are getting closer, though. She didn’t want to go see the therapist, but I talked her into it.

 

The closer you get to her soft, vulnerable core, the more she resists us, is my theory of why she resists the therapist. It’s much easier to hide behind the label of “bad kid” – the kid who deserves whatever crap comes her way – than it is to acknowledge to herself that she is good, because then, I think, she will have to confront her feelings, admit she’s a victim. She has pushed down her feelings of fear, sadness, grief, etc. for a long time.

 

The hardest thing about parenting my kids is that there’s no owner’s manual, no road map. So few people adopt older kids from Russia or any foreign country, and even fewer write about success stories. I feel like I am slogging through the trenches alone, so often, but that’s why I read blogs by friend like Cindy B and Cindy L, who are walking the same road I am, and have indeed had much bigger challenges.

 

I rather hate to say it, but it’s sort of like being a veteran, in a way. Only another soldier really understands. Only my fellow parents who have older kids truly understand the issues I face daily. People who adopt babies are often friends, but they haven’t confronted so many of our issues.

 

When I get impatient I try hard to put myself in my kids’ mindset. What they learned with their birthmothers was that booze and men were more important than them. That’s why Michael clings to me so, and why Alesia resists loving me fully – the last mama she loved fully abandoned her. Their reactions are entirely appropriate when you know their histories.

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Mother did a neat blog, about the area of Atlanta where she grew up - you can read it here.

Subjective Memories

We finally made it to church again this morning. It was not an entirely happy experience, for reasons I don’t feel like sharing, but suffice to say, I am generally glad we went. I wish I could figure out a church experience that would get my kids “fired up” but I don’t know where to find it. I disagree with a lot of the things most fundamentalist churches preach, and the loosey-goosey liberal churches turn me off, too, just in a different way. Alesia and Michael flatly refuse to do Sunday School or youth group, so I’m at a loss.

 

The one thing I do know is this: I walk the walk, in my faith. I don’t just mouth platitudes. I pray, and the kids pray with me, every day. We talk about what’s morally right and wrong. I have to just trust that I will figure out the best way to handle church, eventually. I want them to be part of a vibrant faith community, one that is a happy experience for them.

 

Alesia spent all afternoon with her friend Elena. Michael and I read two chapters of Harry Potter. We also went to Goodwill and bummed around, after I dropped off Alesia. I found Michael a nice, new-looking sweatshirt, heavy cotton, two really nice hardback books for a friend of mine’s birthday, a nearly new paperback mystery for Mother, and two movies – all for just under $20. Can’t beat that.

 

There was a tiny old lady with a halo of pinkish-orange hair in the Goodwill. She looked like she was from outer space. It’s a fascinating place to people watch.

 

We had Keilbasa, sautéed cabbage, and whole wheat rolls for dinner. The kids ate well. They love Keilbasa. Of course, Alesia likes to point out the Russian sausages are better “They aren’t greasy, like American ones!” – a common thing, happy reminiscences about orphanage life. Don’t laugh. She told us today that they were fed 6 times a day at the orphanage and everything was delicious. I asked her if that was so, why was she emaciated when she came here? She got annoyed at the question. I just get ticked when she talks about the orphanage as a great place. Part of her therapy is to accept that it was not a great place, it was a place of terror and deprivation. The therapist says rosy memories of Russia are common, though. Back in the orphanage there were no demands or expectations, and here there are many, on any adopted child – learn the language, learn the rules, conform.

 

Michael doesn’t talk about how great his orphanage was – and it was undoubtedly far better than Alesia’s.

 

The Harry Potter marathon continues. We read three chapters today. Michael likes to hear me read. Of course, I do voices for all the different characters, although I don’t try to do all the English accents – too exhausting. I give Hagrid a Northern English accent, and Professor McGonagall sounds like me channeling Maggie Smith, but the rest sound generic American, just to save wear and tear on my voice. One chapter is like a performance, though – tiring. I am enjoying the book, though. I just hope we can sustain his interest so finish it. He’s only read three books this summer.

 

Michael said tonight, “I like it when you read, Mom.” A high compliment, as he has not been interested much in book, until now. “I am a trained actress, kiddo, I just don’t get to use those skills too much!” I told him.

 

If only I could make a living reading books…

 

Alesia in the orphanage, with my friend Pasha.

My Young Man/Boy

Mother has been blogging away, and you can see her latest post here. You go, Mom!

As the parent of an older adopted child, there’s a wistfulness sometimes, a longing to have seen my children as little ones. I hate that I missed those cute years. I looked at Michael’s face just now, in the dim light of his room, and I could see the young man he’s becoming. I know my baby is in there, close to the surface. He often still wants to be cuddled, like tonight when his teeth hurt from the braces.

 

I look at Alesia, too, and barely remember the little elfin girl from the orphanage. I see this poised young lady, already at ease more and more behind the wheel of a car, and I marvel at her.

 

Michael asked me why he is never sick.

 

“You’re blessed with a strong immune system. Sometimes children who are never exposed to dirt or germs get sick all the time when they go to school, because their bodies haven’t built up their immunities,” I replied.

 

“But I was stick all the time in the orphanage,” he said.

 

“You were around a lot of other kids and I bet they didn’t always wash their hands. Also, here you get lots of good food, fruits and vegetables, and vitamins.”

 

“Go to sleep now, Sweetie.”

 

The sweetest times are tucking my children into bed, even if Alesia has that radio on and is reading one of those fat Meyer books about the teenaged vampires.

 

Tonight we were cleaning shrimp for dinner, and she told me she wished she were a vampire. She was giggling when she said it. I teased her about it a bit. “You just want to date that cute vampire guy with the girly hair!”

 

“Mom!” She quickly changed the subject. “Eeeuw, I hate doing this!” she exclaimed. She told me she wouldn’t eat any shrimp, they were too yucky. Then she ate a good helping of them at dinner.

 

Michael ate lots of shrimp, a bisquit with blueberry jam, and a huge bowl of cantaloupe. I wish I had grown it, but mine are not here yet. Lots of blooms, though.

 

We are fortunate to have a fish shop nearby that sells good quality shrimp and fish, without all the chemicals you get when they are frozen and shipped to the big chain stores. The fish store has a lot of exotic things there, too, that we don’t eat. When I was in there Sunday a tall, handsome black man came in and bought 5 lbs. of crawfish and 2 lbs. of frog legs. Michael wanted to go home with him.

 

I am trying to get the kids motivated to do some academic things before going back to school. Despite being home all summer, I have not had much success at getting Michael to do workbook pages. I told him today if he’d do 4 pages he could play on my computer for 30 minutes.

 

Alesia got the same deal for doing an exercise in a workbook filled with exercises to help her develop abstract thinking skills.

 

I can’t afford another internet connection, but I let them have a little time on my computer, with warnings. I check history, and warn them never to click popups.

 

The new Yahoo/AT&T email seems to always have a large photo on my email page of something yucko, like cellulite-covered legs, or a wrinkled face, or yellowed teeth. Do people really click on those things?! I never want to encourage those sorts of ads so I try hard to ignore them.

 

GREAT SHRIMP

Here's how I sautee shrimp: melt a stick of butter in a skillet on low heat. Add 1 or 2 cloves of fresh garlic, minced fine [I use a garlic press], juice of 1/2 lemon or lime, 1 tbsp. balsamic vinegar, 1 tbsp. vermouth or sherry, fresh ground pepper, salt, 1-2 tbsps. soy sauce, a few drops Tabasco. Put in shrimp on low and turn until pink and opaque. Serve over rice.

Boy Needs Home

We've had a really laid-back day, which was great. Michael had an orthodontist appointment and Dr. C said everything looks fine. He had two teeth that had never come in because there wasn't room in his mouth, and now they are coming in. Of course, tightening and adjusting the braces always hurts, so he's had aspirin today, to try and make the discomfort manageable.

My corn is getting tassels and it looks like there are about 4 ears developing. I am excited about that.

Every once in a while I feel compelled to try and advocate for a child needing a home. However, I have now been informed my assistance in finding a home for a child I hear about is not necessary. I am puzzled, but I am complying with the request to remove the information. Seems to me like someone advocating to find a home for the boy would want to reach as many people as possible, but maybe there are facts I am not aware of. In any event, in an effort to not cause problems, I took down the rest of this post.

It's always sad when adoptions are disrupted. 

Please pray the little boy finds the right family. I am praying.