The Crab Chronicles

Buried Pain

One day last week I noticed there was a sore place on the bottom of my left foot, and I wondered how it got there. I had broken the top of a crystal box recently, and the glass shards scattered across my floor in front of my dresser. I thought I had gotten them all up with the broom and dustpan but maybe not. My bedroom floor is wooden and I sometimes get splinters in my feet from the floor. I cannot bear to wear shoes inside my own bedroom, though.

Yesterday, I could feel the lump on the bottom of my left foot, near the outside, but I couldn’t twist myself around enough to see it. I asked Mom to look at the bottom of my foot and figure out what was causing the pain. I held up my foot and Mom scooted her chair over to the bed so I could put my foot in her lap. She could feel the lump.

She said “It looks like there’s something under there, and the skin has grown around it.”

“See if you can poke it out,” I suggested.

Mother has incredibly tough fingernails. She keeps polish on them. Her body holds on to calcium, which is good, but potassium seems to slip away too easily, which is why she has leg cramps so often.

She dug around in my foot with her nails and I tried not to scream.

Mother has a cataract in her right eye and can see almost nothing out of it at the moment. Hopefully the August 15 surgery will remedy that.

“I think I got it,” Mom said, after a short time. I breathed a sigh of relief.

My foot is still a bit sore from Mother’s prodding of it.

I was thinking yesterday how my sore foot is a metaphor.

In life, we often absorb foreign objects [hurts] into ourselves, and even surround them with protective layers, burying them deep. Shouts, insults, angry words, abuse – all those type of hurts are like foreign objects, wounding us. We try to ignore them. Yet, the pain lingers, of course, because it shouldn’t be there.

Ignoring the pain doesn’t make it go away.

No, someone with the ability to dig out the foreign object is the solution. It’s better if it’s someone who loves us, but it can also just be someone who likes us. A friend, parent, sibling, a colleague, a professional therapist – they are diggers. Sometimes we can dig things out on our own but it's much harder to do.

Digging hurts. Looking at the pain-causer in the harsh light can be sickening. The wound left behind will hurt for a while. The alternative, though, never results in healing. Ignoring pain is not the same as healing it.

Once the foreign object is actually out, though there’s still some pain and soreness for a while, eventually a blessing occurs. One day the hurt is truly and completely healed.

There will be a scar, but scars can be ignored, or even worn as badges of honor.

I respect scars. Scars indicate suffering, but also healing.

I have a lot of scars. Most of them are the result of someone I love accidentally hurting me, but the scars also show healing has taken place.

My wish is that everyone I love will dig the foreign objects out and toss them away, so true healing can take place. Then we can all concentrate on happy pursuits instead of expending our energy ignoring pain.

A Note to Matt Damon

The allegations against many famous men that they have sexually harassed and in some cases sexually assaulted women, have drawn a variety of responses. I have seen the news articles and been shocked and horrified by the allegations against famous men such as Bill Cosby, Matt Lauer, and Dustin Hoffman. 

However, I have not been surprised.

They are all famous men in positions of power, who used that power to get away with horrible behavior.

I was reading this morning [see People] how Matt Damon made some controversial remarks about the allegations against Hollywood figures Harvey Weinstein, Kevin Spacey, and Louis C.K.

Matt:  “I do believe there’s a spectrum of behavior… There’s a difference between patting someone on the butt and rape or child molestation, right? Both of those behaviors need to be confronted and eradicated without question, but they shouldn’t be conflated.”

Matt, you are right. There's a big difference between a pat on the butt and assault. However, what you fail to understand is how the pat on the butt opens the door, and it swings wide. A man who thinks it's OK to pat a woman's butt -- especially a powerful man -- may think it's OK to take it a lot further, and therein lies the issue.

In Twitter land, several actresses including Alyssa Milano and Minnie Driver jumped all over Damon. 

 Matt, here's what you don't understand, though, and why you [and 99% of all men in the world] simply cannot understand it: You cannot understand how it feels because you cannot ever have been in our shoes. It's physically impossible. 

I could never understand what it feels like to be black or Asian or Hispanic because I am white. I can greatly sympathize but it's literally physically impossible for me to empathize.

No man [unless he is transgender] can understand how it feels to live in a woman's smaller, weaker body. It's just impossible.

I was subjected to a variety of unwanted attentions from a male supervisor many years ago, when I was a paralegal. The man who harassed me was known as a jokester. He was also well-liked by the other men in the firm. If I had complained about what he did, I would have been told to ignore it, or quit. In the unlikely event he was reprimanded or confronted in any way about my accusations, he would have retaliated against me. I would quite likely have been made so uncomfortable I would have wanted to quit. I saw just that kind of thing happen.

This is the reality women live with EVERY DAY. We are viewed as objects. Rarely ever are men viewed in the same way. 

I was in a restaurant when I was a college student and a drunk guy came up and grabbed me and gave me a long, passionate kiss on the mouth. He was a complete stranger. I had been drinking and I was so startled, I did nothing but leave. I ran for the door as quickly as possible hearing laughter behind me. I went back to my dorm and shook for about an hour, thanking God  friends had been with me. My friends were all drinking too. 

So is it ok that he grabbed me and kissed me without my consent, since we both had been drinking? NO. Had I been a few years older I likely would have slapped him. I was 19, though, and just wanted to get out of there.

For the sake of argument, let's say a man was viewed as simply a sexual object, a collection of body parts. The male reaction will likely not be the same as a female reaction. Why?

Males are dominant in our society. They are almost always bigger and stronger than females.

Males hold the power positions physically, professionally -- in almost every way.

Males STILL run the show, in almost all situations.

I read the Salma Hayek article in the New York Times with great interest and sympathy.  What she had to endure to get the movie Frida made was horrible. Harvey Weinstein put her through hell. He was in the more powerful position and he could do it. 

The mentality that women have been up against since the dawn of time is the "boys will be boys" mentality. We endure or even shrug off horrible behavior because that's how we are conditioned. That attitude is why women have stayed silent for so long. That's why many women in my mother's generation don't understand what all the fuss is about -- unless they have been assaulted. 

I am amazed at the courage of the women who have come forward against powerful men, now, and said NO MORE.

I don't expect men to change overnight. I hope and pray that within perhaps 20-50 years we will see men who have evolved and will treat women with respect, so harassment and assaults will not be so common. 

Matt, I hope and pray none of your daughters ever experiences sexual harassment in any form, from a pat on the butt to outright assault. However, if one of them did, maybe you would understand a tiny bit of the unfairness, shame, and fear that women have endured. Maybe then the notion that men will view YOUR precious little girls as simply sexual objects will outrage you and you will alter your beliefs.  I wouldn't wish that on anyone, but I wish you could imagine for a moment how you would feel in that instance. 

Maybe if all men could imagine how it feels to be a woman, we would see real change.

Protecting Our Girls

The digital age has made it increasingly tough to parent. I read with horror this article a friend posted a link to on Facebook: Sex Before Kissing: How 15 Year Old Girls Are Dealing With Porn-Addicted Boys. I thought/hoped this was a big problem more in Australia than here, because the writer is talking about Australian kids in the article.

However, one of the comments made by another friend on Facebook made it clear this happens here in the US also, which is just awful.

"As someone who taught in CMS for 10 years I cannot tell you how heartbreakingly on point this is. I have taught multiple girls who ended up on sex tapes their first time having sex with someone they thought "cared" about them, girls who believe a blow job or sex really is no big deal with no emotional consequences, girls who had several abortions or miscarriages by the time they were sophomores (that's 15 or 16 years old, people!), and girls who were endlessly harassed with sexual innuendo because of how they were holding a pencil or how they tilted their heads back when they laughed. Girls on my softball team were getting nude photo after nude photo of boys asking them to have sex with them. It breaks my heart to see this and to see so many parents completely oblivious to what their kids are going through on a DAILY basis".

From the article: "Sexual bullying and harassment are part of daily life for many girls growing up as a part of this digital generation. Young girls are speaking out more and more about how these practices have links with pornography—because it’s directly affecting them." / "If there are still any questions about whether porn has an impact on young people’s sexual attitudes and behaviors, perhaps it’s time to listen to young people themselves. Girls and young women describe boys pressuring them to provide acts inspired by the porn they consume routinely. Girls tell of being expected to put up with things they don’t enjoy."

The article reports that very young girls are under terrible pressure to have sex with boys who view them as only objects.

A few years ago I was absolutely stunned when I heard one of my son's friends, who was about 15 years old, had taken a photo of his penis and sent it to a girl he wanted to date. I couldn't believe it, but I know it was true. Nice boy. Nice family. Educated, decent parents. Totally stunned that he would do something like that.

Not long before that, maybe a year or two before, when my daughter was in high school, she told me something that shocked me. She said that during a power outage one of the boys had wanted her to go in the back of a classroom and have sex there. She refused. She was a pretty girl. I thought the boy must have just been some low-life from a terrible home. I was rather shocked he went to that high school though; we bought the house where we live because we had heard that the high school was one of the best in Atlanta. It was, at one time. I wouldn't say that now, unfortunately.

I had totally forgotten about both of those incidents until I read this article and I realized, this sort of bullying of girls by boys DOES happen here in America, every day, and something needs to be done to remedy it.

I don't know what, though.

I'm not an educator and I don't have kids in the public schools any more.

How things have changed. When I was in 9th grade I remember a whispered conversation on the school bus about a girl that had been in middle school in my class and who became pregnant at 14, and dropped out of school. She wasn't a friend. I have no idea what became of her or the baby. I was totally shocked to hear about the pregnancy, though. I didn't know anyone who was having sex with boys as a 14 or 15 year old. All the girls I knew were too busy with school and sports and church activities.

Then again, we didn't have access to thousands of porn videos.

It's shockingly easy for teens to go on porn websites now and see things that would stun most parents. Parents are seldom aware, I don't think, of the dangers of giving kids access to the internet, unchecked. Or perhaps they simply don't think they can really effectively monitor it. Even if your child has no access to porn on his/her devices at home, it's likely some of their friends have parents who don't care. Short of moving to the middle of nowhere, living off the grid where there is no internet or WiFi access, there's probably little that can be done.

People in my kids' age group [15-25] are generally much more immune to being shocked than I was at those ages. Comedies like We're the Millers or Sisters reference sex acts very casually. Sex is everywhere - in jokes [see Trainwreck] outfits on celebrities, TV comedies, movies, YouTube videos. It's EVERYWHERE. It has to be tough for most teens to avoid it, unless they are homeschooled.

So our teens live in a culture where sex is treated so casually, and then we are surprised when it's taken way too far? We shouldn't be.

Remember recently the outrage expressed over Brock Turner? He was convicted of raping an unconscious woman and was given a 3 month sentence. Read this article: Outrage over 6-month sentence for Brock Turner in Stanford rape case.

Turner is a symptom of a much bigger problem.

How do we protect our girls?

My daughter is grown now, and in a relationship. If I had a 15 year old daughter at home, right now, here's what I would do. First, we would have a long discussion or possibly several discussions about not giving in to boys wanting sex and pressuring her to do it. What most 15 year old girls want is love, a real relationship with someone who care about them as a person, not mechanical sex acts.

Secondly, I would do my best to get her into martial arts classes, so she could defend herself against anyone trying to rape her. I would buy her pepper spray to keep in her purse. I would tell her to stop all contact with any boy who sent her a nude photo.

I would also go to the school and RAISE HELL.

Would any of it do any good? I don't know. All I know is this: every parent in America needs to read Sex Before Kissing and find out what's going on with their child[ren] so they can to re-educate the boys about the dangers of porn, and warn the girls and try to help them avoid doing sexual things they don't want to do.

I honestly don't think there is a "safe place" any more, unfortunately. Really, the only way to reverse these dangerous patterns is for parents to really get involved and monitor their kids closely.  Talk to them about what's okay and what's not. Pay attention to what they say. Get them involved in sports and church activities. Keep them busy. Listen without judgment and then get them the help they need, if you find out they are a victim or a victimizer.

I do not want to imagine what will happen if parents DON'T pay attention and reverse this trend.

Birth Stories

I read Pioneer Woman's latest birth story and frankly thought wow, glad I have kids and I never had to give birth. I would probably start screaming for an epidural right after conception; possibly even beforehand...

Then again, I had to have a tooth pulled about 6 months ago and when I found out that getting laughing gas would prolong the whole miserable experience and cost more I said FORGET IT. Give me a shot of Novocaine [or whatever] and yank that thing out -- while I squeeze the nurse's hand into a bloody pulp.

That's as close as I can get to a birth story.

No, wait - when I got my pacemaker it was an ordeal. I was in put into "twilight sleep" which was horrible. I wasn't asleep for most of it, just groggy and scared. I was aware of everything, including being strapped to the table and having my face covered. For someone who has occasional bouts of claustrophobia, it was a nightmare. I still don't like to even think about it.

So God knew what he was doing when we skipped the whole pregnancy and birth deal and opted for Plan B, adoption.

Adoptive parents are like veterans. We talk about being "paper pregnant" - which is a unique experience. Gathering up the 7,000 pieces of paper necessary for an international adoption is not easy. Everything is scrutinized - our physical health, mental health, financial records, family dynamics, marital history. (All the stuff which my mother would say is "nobody's business.")

Still, I suppose it's better than being in a room with feet in the stirrups, my hoo-ha exposed to everyone who walks by. Mother says nobody can be shy after going through THAT.

 

A few years back I was at our neighborhood pool chatting with a friend of mine and somehow, I soon found myself in a  circle of women. The birth stories started. This is not uncommon. Giving birth is probably one of the few really terrible and simultaneously wonderful things anyone can possibly do. Still, I felt left out. I told a story about adopting my daughter -- I don't remember what -- and everyone just stared at me like I was from Mars. There was a very awkward silence. Then they went right back to the birth stories. Followed by the nursing stories. Followed by the what-my-toddler-did stories.

I fervently wished for just one other adoptive parent to swim over and stand by my side in solidarity -- not anyone did though.

There are some things only other adoptive parents will possibly understand.

 

My daughter called the other day and asked me to send her birth certificate, Russian passport, and Certificate of Citizenship to her. She also wanted "the paper you said you'd show me when I was older." After I hung up, I felt really angry and sad and puzzled, and just upset, in general.

I don't begrudge my daughter any of it. She needs to see everything. She needs to process what happened to her in Russia. Being taken away from one's family and put into an orphanage is a terrible and life-changing thing, and she will deal with the after-effects for the rest of her life. Institutions are terrible places for children.

I sent her everything, including a copy of her parents' marriage certificate, and the transcript of the hearing where her birthmom had her parental rights terminated -- with English translations, of course.

I had very carefully gone over everything with Alesia when she was about 16 but she had no memory of that. None. Her brain dumps painful memories.

If I could talk to other adoptive parents right now, I would say this: don't hide anything. Don't sugar-coat anything. Whether you adopted a baby or a toddler or a teenager, it doesn't matter. The stories surrounding the birth family are critical to our kids. They have to process some very painful things, and there's not much we can do.

A lot of adoptive parents who adopt babies can say to them "Your birthmom simply couldn't parent you, and felt you would be better off in another family." In many cases, the birthmoms are teenagers, or very poor, or they simply aren't equipped for parenthood.

In the cases of my kids, though, who remember their birthmoms, they have to deal with the fact that they were with a birthmom for 6-8 years and the mom chose alcohol and partying instead of parenting. A judge had to remove my daughter from a cold, dirty home with no food, when she was so malnourished and sick she had to be hospitalized. A home where she was left alone for hours with no food, age 6 or younger. A home where neglect stunted her brain development. Michael's birthmom was the same story.

These are not pretty stories. They are tragic stories.

We were talking the other day, Michael and I, about a family he used to babysit for. The oldest child is now old enough to sit for her siblings. "In Georgia, the law is you have to be 12 to be left without supervision," I told him. "I was left alone when I was much younger than that and I was OK," he replied. "Yes, but you shouldn't have been left alone," I replied quietly.

 

So I don't feel bad about being kind of a coward about physical pain. I have shouldered emotional burdens most of the neighborhood ladies cannot fathom. I have had to deal with my own sadness and fear for my kids' mental and emotional health after being treated so badly by their birthmoms. Bandaging emotional boo-boos that result from severe neglect and abuse is very different from what a typical mom experiences. [I took both my kids to a therapist but with limited success..]

I have almost stopped reading accounts by other adoptive parents of teenagers who go off the rails despite all the love and care we give them. Sometimes love and good intentions simply cannot make up for the early trauma. Very often, even for kids adopted as babies, the teen years are anxiety-producing nightmares. Our kids have to figure out their identity in the context of abandonment, which is very difficult. As parents, there's little we can do.

Alesia has gone through a period of rebellion, and I hope and pray she is getting her life back on track.

Michael has had some ups and downs the past couple of years; it hasn't all been smooth sailing. He's going to start college classes in a few weeks, though, and he just got a new job as a Host at a local restaurant.

They are both finding their way.

I cannot eliminate the feelings of sadness and abandonment they will always grapple with, no matter how much I envelop them with love. It simply isn't possible. I cannot wave a magic wand and go back in time and give birth to them. I wish.

Truthfully, I've done about all I can do, in a physical sense. I wish I had done some things differently, but hindsight is 20/20, of course.

Here's how I stay sane.

I remember this: my kids have been given something most of their peers in the orphanage didn't get: a chance at a good life. They have a mom, Granny, and uncle who love them fiercely and devotedly. We don't have a lot of money or material riches but those things are ephemeral. My kids were born in far-away places to women they will likely never see again, but they were re-born here, with me as their Mom, and I will never stop loving them or fighting for them to have decent lives.

 

The Radical Idea of Love

A friend of mine posted on Facebook that he was changing his profile photo to the one below, of Robin Williams. I was surprised, because my friend is a pretty happy guy. The photo below just radiates sadness. It made me think, though.

Today, Robin Williams would have turned 64. What a brilliant and loving man, and what a shame he left us so soon. I think he was here to not only make us laugh, but to teach us about love.

When I saw the photo below, I immediately thought it was an omen of his suicide. His eyes are so sad that they are almost vacant. Those are not the eyes of a man who wants to stay here on earth. Like my cousin Chris Thompson -- a friend of Robin's from years ago, who died last month -- he felt it was time to go, and there was no other way.

 

Sometimes people kill themselves quickly and decisively and sometimes it happens gradually, over a long period of time. I have seen both kinds. I have often wondered what makes the difference in a person's life, what stops them from killing themselves?

All of us have sadness, to some degree. What makes the difference between those of us who choose to check out early, and those who are willing to stick around and keep fighting the good fight?

I don't know, but here is my theory:

Some of us can accept transforming love and some of us cannot.

The hunger for love is much more difficult to remove than the hunger for bread. ~Mother Teresa

 

Robin had a lonely childhood, but eventually he was able to channel that pain into creativity and his creativity seemed to help him to be able to give back a lot. After he died it was revealed that he had spent a lot of time doing charitable work. Robin reached out to sick children. He entertained the troops in Iraq and Afghanistan numerous times. He gave and gave and gave.

He practiced loving others.

Was he as skilled at letting others love him? I tend to think not, or he would still be here. That's just a theory.

Accepting Love is a vitally important skill.

 

One problem I have with a lot of mainstream churches is that they emphasize reading and studying the bible, and they ignore or downplay what is, to me, a much more worthy and important pursuit -- teaching us how to love each other better.

Just as school should teach children how to think and learn, church [or synagogue] should teach them how to love. So often it doesn't, though. So often organized religion is about following rules, memorizing bible verses, acting appropriately. It's neat and conformist.

Love should be dynamic and messy and ambitious. Love should not be safe.

I've seen the effects of neglect and trauma in my children, over and over. Loving is hard for them. Even understanding love is a huge thing for them because it's so associated with loss. How terrifying it must be to love someone when all your past experience has been that the person you love will hurt and abandon you?

In my zeal to reverse the effects of all that darkness, I hug them too much, tell them I love them too much, and generally hover [more so with Michael, obviously]. They are adept at pushing me away when they need to. I refuse to apologize for loving too fiercely, though. My children know they are loved. It's my job just to figure out how to do it right, to teach them to accept my love and other love, to keep the darkness from swallowing them up.

Love is simple and yet not. In a way, it's the most complicated energy in the world. It's the trigonometry of all the emotions.

I try very hard to learn how to love the right way. I fail as often as I succeed. I fail, and I cry, and I pray, and I keep loving. I read everything I can find about how to help heal trauma, most importantly blogs by other adoptive moms.

Despite all my ineptitude, I cling to the hope that I can help my children accept love that transforms them. I don't want them to be unable to let go of their traumatic pasts, and check out early like Robin and Chris. I don't want to ever see the same despair in my kids' eyes as in Robin's eyes in the photo above.

My challenge is to not smother those I love. I ask God for grace and guidance in that regard every.single.day.

So here's my challenge to everyone out there reading this: focus on love as an active verb, as alchemy, as magic, as healing. Read everything you can find about it. Listen to wise people. Google the words "love" and "healing" and just read. Tell everyone you love that you feel that way. Practice being kind even when you want to scream. Focus on the folks in your life that you love the most and pray for guidance. Feel inadequate to the task? Ask God for help.

Don't give up on love. Ever.

Love is a seed. Plant it everywhere you can, and eventually you will grow miracles.

Busy Days

Finally got the Christmas tree up and decorated:

We have a 9 ft tree, and there are TONS of things that go on the tree.

We quit using tinsel years ago but my mother bought many packages of crystal icicles, and after all the colored ornaments are hung, we "frost" the tree with the icicles.

Now we can finally get the family room vacuumed and straight. Yay!

Spent a long time yesterday helping Michael with a research paper for his history class. We're in the car going to school this morning and he mentions casually that he forgot about another history assignment and it was due Monday, a review of an article about history. AAARGH!!

I assured him he would be doing that assignment today, after school.

I finally said to him the other day, "Do you ever stop and think about that fact that although YOU don't care about your schoolwork, I DO?!?!! When you don't do things and I find out, I worry about the missed assignments and papers and I WORRY."

Thanks for ADDING to the long list of stressors in my life, kid.

I guess that is true of so many teenagers. They have a hard time seeing beyond their own concerns.

Michael has to help me out with a few chores around here, but 95% of his time outside of school is his own, and he can do what he likes.

Most days it's hard for me to find even one hour to just relax.

Lola is forcing me to get up off my butt and walk her, which is good, since I need more exercise, but I am often more tired than usual. Still trying to get used to the increased level of activity.

Last night I was wiped out by 10, and asleep shortly thereafter.

Such is life as a single mom... no matter how stressful, it's better than not being a mom, any day.

***************

I am constantly fascinated by articles about children who have undergone early trauma and the lifelong effects, and this one really hit home: Kids Whose Bond With Mother Was Disrupted Early in Life Show Changes in Brain.

Alesia is far too trusting of people, far too friendly, and it worries me a lot. Continuing to pray and hope she can get past this...

 

Pain Management

So Michael woke me up today at 6:20 saying he was in bad pain, shooting pains in his face. Any time my 17 year old is up before I am, I know he's telling me the truth. The pains were all in his face and jaw.

I had a sinus headache, and so I figured it was a sinus infection.

We headed to the pediatrician before 10. By then he had taken 3 Motrin and had a cup of tea, and he said the pain was nearly gone.

When we got to the pediatrician's office, and a lady came in carrying a tiny infant in a carrier. A couple came out of the examining room with the daddy carrying another tiny infant. Michael likes babies and he was enjoying peering at them.

Suddenly, the doctor came out and hollered "MICHAEL THOMPSON!" and we both nearly jumped out of our skins. Michael took off like somebody had lit a firecracker under his tailbone. He told me a minute later when we were alone in the examining room, "Why did he have to YELL like that?! he could've upset the babies!"

"I think the regular nurse is out today. He normally doesn't call the patients back," I said. "The babies didn't cry, sweetie."

"He didn't have to yell."

The pediatrician checked Michael thoroughly, and said it's not sinus. I told him about Michael needing his wisdom teeth out. The teeth are coming in horizontally instead of vertically, and Mike still has a grownup tooth coming in. He wore braces for 18 months to make room, but his mouth is still really crowded.

Dr. D just said well, I am 98% sure it's his teeth causing the pain.

I called the oral surgeon, and we can't get in to see him for two weeks. Then we will have to wait on the insurance to approve the surgery, then get a date for the surgery. So it may not happen until November. Arrrgh! I hate to see him in pain.I hope Motrin will manage it..

Coco was all snuggled up with Mike last night but as soon as I aimed the camera at her she jumped up and turned away.

UPDATE: Michael hasn't had any more pain all day [knock wood]. I plan to keep him well supplied with Motrin until the surgery takes place, and there will be a lot of praying going on...

Thinking about Alcoholism

Seems like there have been a lot of opportunities lately to think about substance abuse [mainly alcohol] and how it affects my family. It's not something most people want to blog about but I don't think anything should be totally taboo.

Most parents who have adopted from Eastern Europe have to live with kids who have some degree of Fetal Alcohol Effects. That part of the world is about 30 years behind us when it comes to awareness of the dangers of drinking while pregnant.My friend Stephanie writes very movingly about raising her 12 kids, most of whom have FAS or FAE. I admire her for talking so openly about it.

People here in the US can be quite stupid about alcohol too - and they have no excuse.

Heard Reese Witherspoon on a radio interview today talking about how embarrassed she is about the way she acted when her husband got a DUI recently here in Atlanta. I was sort of amused and appalled by her behavior, but I have to say, she was saying the right stuff in this interview, like "I have policemen in my family. I know better. You should always be respectful to the police."

The sad thing is, if her husband is an alcoholic, that may be why she panicked when the cop pulled them over. I just have a feeling maybe her husband has a drinking problem. He got off pretty light - probation and community service. Wonder what that will be? I sorta doubt I will see him picking up trash by the road around here..

Michael and I watched an excellent movie, Flight, starring Denzel Washington. It's a grownup movie, not one for kids really, but I felt like he could handle it, and I was right. It's about a commercial airline pilot whose plane crashes but he saves most of the lives of the passengers. Michael was puzzled why the pilot was even punished for crashing the plane, since most of the people survived. I told him it's never OK to drive or fly when you're under the influence of drugs or alcohol. Never. 

I was reminded that he spent his first 8 years living with an alcoholic birthmom because in the movie, Michael was commenting all the time "He's going to drink again. Watch." or "He's got something hidden in there." Kids learn how alcoholic parents behave, they learn to predict very accurately, because it's a survival technique.

It's an excellent movie and Denzel totally deserved the Oscar nomination.

Michael told me once he'd seen his birthmom drink perfume for the alcohol in it.I understand that. One of my great uncles was a binge drinker and Dad used to go get him out of jail and bring him to our house to sober up. I never saw him wasted because Dad and Mom were protective of us. All I knew was that when he was sober, Jake was a wonderful, funny, sweet old man, and much like a grandfather to me when I was small. He could go for weeks or months and stay sober, then he'd go on a bender.

After several weeks of complete phone silence, I finally heard from Alesia yesterday. I sent her a photo of Michael and she texted back. I have had some very ugly messages from her boyfriend, but I've tried to ignore them. I want her to stay in contact. My hope/wish/prayer is that she will get herself straightened out so that one day she can be reunited with her brother. When Mother and Bruce and I are gone she will be his only close family.

It helps to get in my garden and dig in the dirt. I've got some tomatoes and zucchini in the ground, but I need to put in my other seedlings. It's so chilly right now, it's hard to work up much enthusiasm for staying outside for long.

So I've been listening to some radio stations Michael likes, and I heard this song on the radio and liked it.

 

It's musically interesting to me the way it's arranged. The male chorus in the background sounds really "tribal" [for lack of a better word] and yet it is a dance/techno song, too. A sort of hybrid. I find it fascinating that so many pop artists are doing music like this, a combination of styles. Some of it's dreadful and some of it is quite creative.

Healing and Thriving

Wow, it's so hard to think of anything to write today, in light of the tragedy in Connecticut. As I was driving home from work yesterday, I heard interviews on NPR with the teachers.I wanted to cry but I didn't want to wreck the car.

The last time I taught anything was in 2007 when I taught first graders in Vacation Bible School. They were so precious. Michael had just come home, and he was the same size as most of my first graders. He hated to leave me all morning, but he was in the third grade class and Alesia was in there as a teacher's aide, and was translating for him.

This is Michael during that time.

I wish the news media would leave all those children that lived through this tragedy completely alone. Those children have a long road ahead of healing. I'm sure many of them have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Children can have that too, it's not just soldiers that get it.

I've shared here how Michael lost his hand, due to frostbite after a severe beating. That such brutality was inflicted on a little 5 year old is tough to imagine and I don't want to think of it.The only good thing about it was that there was an article about it in the paper, and the memory of it, even three years later, is what prompted the assistant principal of the orphanage to get Michael out of the shelter and to the big orphanage where she worked. As orphanages go, the Regional Boarding School in Petropavlovsk isn't too bad. Michael spent two years there before I adopted him. So out of evil, ultimately, my son was rescued.

Here's a message for everyone, though.

Michael survived a terrible, senseless tragedy. He has to live with the consequences every day of his life.

BUT

He has no memory of what happened that day. None. This is how God helps to heal us. He cannot stop evil. He can help us heal, though.

It's for the grownups to remember, and to try and prevent that same tragedy from ever happening again.

One of my many prayers is that the children who survived the horror of yesterday will heal and thrive as much as my son has healed.

The Gift of Faith

I am not a philosophical person, or terribly introspective, but questions of identity always intrigue me. How do you figure out who you are and your place in the world? 

Alesia called me not long ago and asked for information and documents about her birthparents and her adoption. I don't mind complying with her request. It's vital that she start to connect the dots, to see her life with some sort of perspective. It's a tough thing to do, no matter what your life circumstances.

When I was in college it finally dawned upon me that I had lived a pretty sheltered existence, growing up in the suburbs, with a banker father and a stay at home mom. I had some sad and painful things happen to me, including the deaths of my grandparents, but I never really endured anything terrible. I knew who I was. I knew my father. I knew I was smart. 

Contrast that with Alesia, and so many adopted kids. Whether or not they know anything about their birthparents, they struggle with the identity questions much more than I did. 

There's a great line from the movie Murphy's Romance that I've always remembered. Murphy is talking to his girlfriend's young son and referencing the boy's n'er do well birthdad, and he says quietly, "You can be like him or not, it's up to you." So we have a choice as to whether or not we want to lead our lives copying our parents, or striking out on a totally different path. 

At one time, I thought it would be a great job to be a bartender. I could write during the day, tend bar at night. My dad refused to pay for bartending school and was horrified at the thought of me doing that. Now I see he was right. At the time, I thought he was being hopelessly overprotective. 

How do we make choices if we don't really know what our birthparents were like, though, or if our view was skewed? 

How do we get buffeted along by forces we don't even remember, from early childhood? I've known folks who adopted babies less than a year old, and their babies couldn't attach, were traumatized, suffered night terrors, banged their heads obsessively, etc. Institutions never care for a child very well, particularly not orphanages in poor countries. 

So some of Alesia's earliest memories are of a birthmom who simply wasn't there a lot of the time. At less than 5 years old, Alesia was fending for herself a lot. She learned not to trust. She learned she could only rely on herself. The 6 years in the orphanage reinforced that. Most older kids in orphanages learn very harsh lessons and it's very tough to un-learn them. 

Despite all the love and care I tried to lavish on my daughter, she never trusted me. I did my best to bond with her, but I wasn't successful. I know she loves me, but that's a different thing. 

I am pretty sure she doesn't want to be like boring old mama, who pays bills, doesn't go out at night, never does drugs, rarely ever drinks, etc. I am boring, to her.

So despite all our best intentions, us adoptive moms face huge obstacles in raising healthy, happy secure kids. I don't know any answers to how to do it better. I just know we have to keep fighting the good fight. 

A friend emailed me this morning about a an adopted child who got into drugs at the age of 12, but now she is clean and sober and doing well. Thank God for positive stories like that. I need to hear more of those. 

There's one thing I do know. Faith makes all these thorny questions bearable. 

I was praying about a situation with Michael's schoolwork that presented a knotty problem, and the solution presented itself to me within 24 hours. That's always the way of it. The harder I struggle, the more tangled the web. The more I "let go and let God" the easier the problem gets solved.

If I can't help her figure out her identity or trust me, if I could only bestow ONE gift on my daughter, I would give her the gift of faith. It puts everything else in perspective.