The Brutally Honest Christmas Card

One of my favorite writers, D.L. Mayfield, shared an older post of hers a few weeks ago on Instagram. It was her Brutally Honest Christmas Card, and it struck a chord with me this holiday season because all things are not merry and bright under our roof. As a writing exercise, I decided to make my own Brutally Honest Christmas Card using Mayfield's as a model for mine. We are not Christmas letter people or even Christmas card people, but it felt good to write this. It felt genuine. Perhaps if you've have had a hard year, it might be a helpful exercise for you to draft your own honest Christmas letter. One final note: the phrases in italics are her words. I decided not to change them because they fit so well, but I want to give credit where credit is due.

__________

Seasons greetings from the Helzers.

My fave photo of us from 2017 even though you can see all the fillings in my enormous mouth.

2017 has been a terrible year, and we're happy it's almost over. In the last year, we...

had to replace two of our kitchen appliances in the same week that our dog of ten years, Sam, died. We continued to help our kids through tough traumas and losses. Trump is still president. White supremacists are emboldened, and our daughter is grappling with being one of a few black children in a sea of white children at school. Our son's trauma has twisted his brain so much that he believes if he is bad enough at home, then he will get to live with his birth parents again. This manifests itself in the form of constant sneaky behaviors. We've installed alarms on bedroom doors, locked up the medicines/knives/garage, and monitor the kids at all times.

Consequently, we've all started attending therapy. Some families fill their free time with extracurricular activities; we fill ours with therapy appointments! I started in on a regimen of anxiety medications to help settle my brain down. We have lived in a constant state of hyper-vigilance and anxiety since August, so we stay cloistered in our home where it's safe to cry and scream and throw things. Some of our friends and family send prayers, and others have sent meals; we are grateful for their support. But for the most part, we remain isolated from the world--our struggles tucked away like an emergency spare key. It was the year of hard things. We are surprised we are still standing.

But the other day when we were serving folks in need at a local church, my daughter saw a girl from school in line for food with her family. She left her post serving green beans and jumped in line so she could eat with her friend. She had no reservations about being on the other side of the table. My son dried dishes in the back and chatted it up with the church ladies like it was nothing for him. It wasn't a huge moment--just one Saturday in our lives, but I can't tell you how grateful I am for that moment.

Pulling up a seat in the smoking section

Parents are responsible for their kids. A kid's behaviors often reflect their home lives. The kid must've learned these behaviors at home. 

I've heard these claims spoken by daycare providers, teachers, parents, and (gasp) these are beliefs I once held. ...Then I became a parent to two kids who experienced physical and psychological trauma during pivotal developmental years.

Suddenly, these statements no longer felt true. Even though my kids have been adopted for three and almost two years, they still struggle (and will always struggle) with trauma. Often they still feel threatened in situations that an outsider would not perceive as threatening. Sometimes they still eat as if food may not grace our dinner table again. Many times they still melt down when they receive even the tiniest of consequences. Are these behaviors a reflection of our home lives? I don't think so. Our home is far from perfect, but generally speaking, my husband and I work hard to maintain a consistent and loving home where curiosity is encouraged, mistakes can be learned from, a home where our kids can be kids with room to play and explore. We try to help our kids identify big feelings, and we give them tools to help them work through these. But, as is the habit of trauma, sometimes our kids' pasts seep through the cracks in their lives that we have desperately tried to repair.

Yesterday, my phone rang at 10:30 AM; it was my kids' principal. She replayed an outburst my son had in his classroom; he was unable to be redirected and had to spend the rest of the morning in the principal's office. I hung up the phone feeling overwhelmed and mortified about my son's behaviors. In fact, my first response was to email J's teacher to apologize for his behaviors. I spent the rest of the day beneath a dark cloud of shame.

Not a real cloud of shame, but it's pretty damn close. 

My brain knows that J's outburst was likely from a perceived threat and not an act of defiance, but I couldn't convince my heart and gut to agree with my brain. I felt responsible for my son's behavior. I wasn't home enough, I yell too much, I don't hug him enough. I worried about what the teacher thought of our home life, what J's classmates would tell their parents about the scenario, and what those parents would think of us. I was in a downward spiral of shame when I finally texted one of my best friends who also is a foster-adoptive mama and is familiar with parenting kids from hard places. I asked her when I would stop feeling so ashamed for my kids' behaviors. My friend is wise and kind and calm. She talked to me about losing my reputation to reach others...she reminded me that my reputation is eternal, and directed me to a sermon she recently heard on Luke 15: Love Can Unbind Us from Pastor Myron Pierce. 

The moment before the photo

Confession: I'm terrible at documenting moments via pictures. I have a sister in-law who is great at it; she always seems to remember her camera, snaps a photo at just the right time, and makes awesome picture books for her kids. She isn't a professional photographer, but her pictures have captured some beautiful moments.

My style is much more...lazy casual. I take photos on my crappy cell phone and then do a mass printing of them two times a year. I give my kids the stack of photos and task them with putting the photos in their plain colored photo albums void of scrapbooking embellishments, fun captions, and stickers. I made two photo books for them once on Shutterfly, and each time it was a huge pain in the ass. I tend to be paralyzed by choice, but I also can't make an uninformed choice, so I spent an hour scrolling through all 1,764 embellishment options...for one page. My kids love these Shutterfly books and look at them often, but they also look at their giant, simple photo albums just as much.

My inability to snap photos at just the right moment paired with my preferences for interior design, means that we only have two actual photos hanging in the public spaces of our house: a picture of Nate and his dad and a black and white photo from K's adoption day in July 2015.

Yesterday I ran away

This last week was ROUGH.

My work schedule was slammed with students. As a writing coach, I meet with students one on one to help them improve their writing skills while empowering them to understand the rhetorical situation and make their own smart choices. It becomes mentally and physically draining when I'm logging almost 6.5 hours of back to back contact time with students four days a week. I usually have Fridays off, but instead, I went in to work for a few hours to meet the needs of my students.

Thursday my husband came down with the cold/sinus/blah junk that I had a few weeks ago.

On Friday night while attending a play that a friend of mine was directing, I got word that my great-grandma passed away. I have beautiful memories of her from when I was a child. She lived a long, full life, but death has a way of dredging up unexpected emotions.

Saturday my husband and I spent much of our day trying to diffuse tantrums.The bedroom walls endured their usual beating from our kids' unspoken emotions--likely frustration with our boundaries, sadness at all the loss they've endured, confusion about who to be mad at. A sense of helplessness reverberated throughout our house. The last tantrum stretched on until 10:30 PM, and my husband and I collapsed soon after, our conversation about solutions always cut short by sleep.

On Sunday morning I picked my son up from Sunday school and the volunteer teacher reported, "We had some problems with him today. He wasn't listening and the other kids were saying that he said bad words. You might want to fix it." I know she has no context of our situation, but her words were just another reason to call myself a failure as a parent.

Yesterday I ran away.

6 Things To Know About Foster-Adoption

I've got a new piece up today on The Huffington Post. Here's a snippet of the article:

...There seems to be an overall lack of knowledge in the general public regarding foster care and foster-adopt. This can cause misunderstandings that may seem insignificant to those outside the world of foster-adopt, but to those living in this world, these misunderstandings can be isolating.
I’ve heard many foster-adopt parents begin sentences with, “If people only knew…” 

In an attempt to educate, I asked foster-adoptive parents from one of my state’s local support groups what they wish others knew about foster-adopt. Here are six themes that emerged: 

1. Adopted children were first loved and wanted by another family; their biological family were simply not in a position to raise and parent their kids. Our adopted children were not “given up” the way one discards a sweater that has become stretched and faded. Our children were placed with us to become their forever family, and we said yes even though we were scared and unsure and may have had little information.

Click here to read the full-text of the article!

Parenting Should-Haves: Mamas, Give Yourself Some Grace

I've got a new post up on Her View From Home this week encouraging mamas to give themselves grace. Here's a teaser:

"Mom, J was saying mean things about you and dad yesterday on the bus. He told people you say the F-word and that you don't feed him for five days. He's lying. He lied."  

I can always count on my daughter to be honest. But, for the love, we were six blocks form the kids' school, running late, and my coffee was cold. At that moment, I didn't have the emotional capacity to process something so significant.  

Immediately, from the back seat, J piped up, "Someone ELSE said that about their parents. Not me."  

I tried to remain calm while also, politely, call BS on my son who frequently takes creative liberties with the truth. A few seconds later, when he realized I wasn't going to believe his lie, he caved.  

"Well...I said it, but it was about my BIRTH  parents." 

Click here to read more! 

Adoption is Not Second Best

I'm a little late in posting this, but last week I had a new piece go live on Her View From Home where I dispel the myth that adoption is second best. Like many posts, I've thought about writing this for at least six months now, but after a conversation during a long run with my best friend (also an adoptive momma!), I finally reached enough clarity to actually write the piece. Here's a teaser of the article; click here to read the full text. 

Those kids is how many people refer to my kids. The phrase rings with an air of pity and a twinge of thankfulness that someone else was willing to step in and adopt those kids. It’s a phrase often used with no harm intended, but the connotations are heavy. My kids aren’t those kids; no kids are those kids…kids in foster care or available for adoption are simply, kids.

To read the full text of this article, click here. If you're feeling generous, feel free to share the article on your favorite social media outlets!

Speaking back to the stereotypes of foster parents

I came across this video on the interwebs made by What Would You Do?, one of those hidden camera shows that stages scenarios in order to see what kind of reaction they receive from onlookers. This particular staged situation portrays foster parents as greedy people only in foster care for the money who treat their foster kids as second-class children. The video is a little over eight minutes long, but it took me about 20 minutes to watch; I had to walk away a few times because it made me so mad. Here are three reasons why I take issue with the video:

3 Things my kids' tantrums have taught me

Here's a snippet of my latest post up today on Her View From Home:

"When my husband and I chose foster to adopt to expand our family, we were prepared to love and provide for our kids. We were even prepared to constantly have caseworkers and therapists in our home and for the required hoop jumping for foster care and adoption. What we were completely unprepared for was the tantrums--the raging, the kicking, the hitting, the destruction, the 90 minutes of screaming. We didn't know how to bounce back after one of these fits of rage. But, after two years in the trenches, our kids' tantrums have taught us three valuable lessons...."

To read the full text of this post, click here. Feel free to share it on social media or leave a comment!

Tips for church staff when working with traumatized children

Sunday morning is the ONLY morning my family gets to fake normal. It’s the lone day of the week we all look presentable. Since we’re there for a mere hour and fifteen minutes each week, there’s little time for my kids’ trauma to unfold in the form of questionable behaviors. There’s also the fact that we’re still relatively new to town and our church. While it’s clear by looking at our family that our kids could be adopted (one dark brown child, one light brown child, and two very white parents), most in our church aren’t aware of our kids’ stories and prior trauma. So you can imagine the pit of nausea that developed on Sunday morning when I heard my husband explain to our tantruming, pajama-clad son that we were leaving for church as a family of four in 20 minutes whether he was out of his footie-jammies or not.

To the parents of my struggling son's classmates

Note: There's a lot that sparked me to write this, but the story of a young man in Ralston (Reid Adler) who committed suicide has haunted me for the past few weeks. Reid's story is very different than my son's, but it made me think about my son and how difficult school has been for him. Here's just a teaser of my post...if you want to read more, click here.

To the parents of my struggling son’s classmates:

...when your child tells you about my son’s interesting behaviors, would you engage in an age-appropriate conversation about this? Your child and mine don’t need to be best friends. They don’t need to play together every recess or sit together every day at lunch. He doesn’t need to be invited to your kid’s birthday party. And, it would even be appropriate for your child to distance him/herself from my son during his outbursts and episodes. However, could you think about your child playing alone at recess day after day? Could you think of how your child might feel about him/herself if every day he/she took multiple trips to the principal’s office? I hope this thought moves you to explain to your child that sometimes kids can’t control their behaviors. I hope it encourages you to talk to your child about being friendly, even to those who are different...

Saying no to more children...for now

We discovered the Nebraska Heart Gallery (a website featuring pictures and bios of kids available for adoption in Nebraska) while we were working on our foster parenting license three years ago. Halfway through our licensure, we inquired about a sibling strip of three, but since they were spoken for, we were informed of a little boy about to go on the Heart Gallery--this little boy would eventually become our son. After we adopted him, it was only a few weeks before I started creeping on the Heart Gallery reading bios and thinking about giving Jon a sibling. We made a few inquiries, and when nothing panned out--we decided this was a clear sign we needed to wait. But I looked at that website every day...sometimes multiple times a day, and my heart ached for these kids. Their pictures burned in my mind. Six months after we adopted Jon, because of an inquiry with the Heart Gallery, we were matched with our now daughter. It's been 15 months since she moved in and seven months since we adopted her. Just a month ago my husband and I had that conversation...the more kids conversation. We laughed, I chugged a beer, and while our kids each cried in their rooms, we quickly agreed that we had reached our limits with kids.

......then I looked at the Heart Gallery's website last week......and I saw two little boys with whom my son went to daycare and a handful of kids whose bios have been up on the website for three years. Then I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to be done adopting kids....

My heart aches for these kids who haven't been able to find homes. Every kid deserves a home, and I desperately want to give all of these kids a forever family--to allow them this experience. But the truth is....my husband and I are tired EXHAUSTED. And we are already stretched to our limits emotionally and physically. We could not fit more therapy appointments in our schedule unless I quit working altogether. And it turns out that I enjoy the break of working--even part-time. I could not do the difficult full-time stay at home mom gig that adopting another child would require.

But you guys....these kids who are waiting...I keep thinking about Jeffrey--whose sister has already been adopted---who went to daycare with my son. I think about Dom, Naomi, and Chire--a sibling strip of three who we prayed about for a year asking God for direction about pursuing these three who are now eligible to be adopted individually--whose pictures show how they've grown up while waiting for their forever family.

I don't cry when I box up my kids' tiny clothes like some moms who know they are done with kids. But I do get misty knowing that I cannot offer Jeffrey, Dom, Naomi, or Chire a forever home right now. In five years or even in ten years we may be in a different place and be able to welcome more kids, but for now we just can't. However-----if you've ever considered more kids or adoption, would you check out the Nebraska Heart Gallery? Would you consider saying yes to these kids? Adopting older kids is incredibly difficult, but.....these kids have often experienced more difficult things. If you want to chat about adopting older children, I'd be happy to talk with you; just hit me up on email or Facebook or leave me a comment below!

My son, show and tell, and adoption

This is my son’s teddy bear; he got it from my parents on his adoption day. The bear’s sweatshirt has Jon’s adoption date printed on one of the sleeves. It is, by far, my son’s favorite stuffed animal--one he sleeps with each night. Today for show and tell, he chose to bring this bear.

Initially I thought it was a sweet thing to choose, but after Jon had tucked it safely away in his backpack last night before bed, I started to worry about his show and tell choice. I wondered if I should’ve steered him towards his new spy kit or his Ford F-250 pickup and trailer...I feared that the kids in his class would make fun of him for bringing a stuffed animal….and for being adopted. I pictured him standing in front of his class, proudly showing off his bear pointing out his adoption date, March 6, 2014, now partially rubbed off from so much use. I imagined the boys in his class snickering at the bear making comments about how it’s a baby toy. I heard the questions some girls might ask---Why are you adopted? Did your parents not want you? And then I pictured him screaming at the class--a reaction he has when he’s frustrated--before he runs out of the room crying, giving the more malicious kids in his class fuel.

You see, Jon has not been one to want to talk about being adopted. He had some project in Kindergarten that required him to draw or write about something that made him unique. I suggested he share that he was adopted, that his mommy and daddy picked him to love forever. Instead of embracing the idea, he peered up at me, a grave expression on his face and said, “I don’t want to talk about being adopted.” Of course, I couldn’t let it go. I pried and asked why, and quietly he mumbled, “because my friends will probably make fun of me.” 

Even at age five he felt this difference, and it wasn’t a special feeling, it was a difference rooted in fear...and maybe even shame. It broke my heart. I thought it would take a few years for him to feel this fear and shame, to realize the difference between him and most of his classmates. I acknowledged his fear, reminded him that we loved him more than he could even imagine, and then I didn’t really bring it up after that. Of course, in our house we talk about how we picked both Jon and Ky to be our kids. We remind them that lots of parents don’t pick their kids, and we try to explain why it’s so special to be picked. We relate it to God picking us to be his children. We try to surround them with other kids who are adopted so they don’t feel so alone. We seek out classes for them to help them explain adoption to their friends. We make adoption a positive thing in our home. But I know that even in our modern society, many still don’t understand adoption--especially kids. No matter how beautiful adoption is, it’s rooted in loss.

During show and tell time today, I prayed that God would protect my baby from any naive or malicious comments today. I prayed that God would help Jon (and Ky) to grow to see their adoption as a source of pride. I prayed that God would give Nate and me wisdom as we continue helping our kids embrace their differences, and I prayed that God would continue to give us opportunities to educate others on adoption--especially foster to adopt.

If you have kids, I encourage you to start talking to your kids early about how each family is different. Click here for a list of 11 books to use to start talking to your kids about families (two books that aren’t on this list are: The Family Book by Todd Parr and All Kinds of Families by Mary Ann Hoberman) . Consider checking your public libraries for these or even purchase a few at your local bookstores.

What I learned from traveling with my kids

My husband and I adopted our son from foster care in March of 2014 and our daughter from foster care in July of 2015. Both of our kids have experienced significant trauma and struggle with attachment issues that are often expressed with defiance towards us and other frustrating behaviors, so when I clicked “purchase” to buy four non-refundable plane tickets to Texas over Christmas break for our first vacation as a family of four, I wondered if I had lost my mind.

After talking with the kids’ therapist, we decided not to tell our kids about the trip until we left for the airport. The night before our flight, I tossed and turned with anxiety about how they would react to the news of going on a trip (kids with histories of trauma don’t like surprises). Would they cry and throw a tantrum? Would they fake excitement and then save all their anxiety to come out in the form of tantrums/bathroom issues/food hoarding on the plane for one hundred strangers to see and judge us for the lack of control we have over our children?  Or would they save all of these issues for Texas forcing my husband and me to deal with behaviors rather than spend precious moments with my grandfather? My own anxiety robbed me of sleep.

We woke the kids at three in the morning to dress them and hurry them out to the hotel lobby so we could wait for our shuttle. We surprised them in the hotel lobby and video taped their reactions--our son, the introvert, gasped at the news and covered his mouth--his wide eyes darted back and forth between my husband and me as if he was trying to figure out what this all meant. Our daughter, the extrovert, shouted, “FOR THE FIRST TIME I GET TO FLY ON AN AIRPLANE!” We explained where we’d be traveling to, how many days we’d be gone, that we’d make a stop at South Padre Island to swim in the ocean, and that we’d have a layover in Minneapolis--a city our son has wanted to visit ever since a classmate of his moved there last summer. I waited on my tiptoes in the hotel lobby for the tantrums….but there were none. There were none on the shuttle, none at the airport, none on the plane, and none for the first two days of vacation. My husband and I were deliberate at filling our days with equal amounts of fun activities in Texas and free-time for them to play and rest back at my grandpa’s house. We tended to a few meltdowns and defiance on our last day of the trip, but none of these behaviors were severe.

Our kids...running into the Gulf of Mexico

As I scan through all the photos from our trip and see the pure excitement on our kids’ faces, I’m realizing just how important this trip was for our little family. I think this vacation told our kids that they can trust us to provide for them above and beyond their basic needs. I think the trip affirmed for our kids (especially our daughter who we recently adopted) that their place in our family is firm. For my husband and me, the trip taught us that our kids can handle certain amounts of stress as long as we are deliberate about balancing them with predictable routines.

Understanding Reactive Attachment Disorder

Our kids (both adopted from foster care) have Reactive Attachment Disorder. Kids with RAD engage in intense power struggles with their caregivers because they have learned their previous caregivers didn't do a good job of meeting their needs.

For our kids, here's what these power struggles look like: If we give our kids a two-step instruction, they do the second step before they do the first step. If we ask them to put on their coat before school, they'll put on their backpack instead. I laid out a lightweight coat for my daughter last week during our 50-60 degree weather streak; she asked for a warmer one. I explained why we were wearing our spring coats, and she insisted she wear her winter coat throughout the week. If we issue a consequence to our kids, they will yell that we are mean and scream and kick for sometimes up to an hour. When I ask J to walk, he runs. When I ask K to run, she walks. Our daughter has to know everything that is going on: what we are doing each day, when we are leaving, when we are coming home, what we are eating, etc. Our son "spies" on my husband and me when we're having conversations--he simply cannot go play while the two of us talk. Sometimes our daughter even refuses to complete basic hygiene tasks (hand-washing, wiping after pottying, showering, etc). In therapy we've been working on trust--so, the therapist blindfolds the kids and has one of us lead the child around the office. Immediately, their arms and hands begin to feel for something familiar. They stick out a foot and feel around before taking a step. A nervous giggle sometimes turns into out of control laughing. Our kids fight for control in nearly every situation.

Conversely, they are totally sweet and compliant around strangers or those who they don't have a deep relationship with because they've learned how to "work a crowd." In the past they've used others to get what they need: food, attention, hugs, diaper changes, etc. K demonstrates this by giving lots of hugs and wanting to be right next to others (teachers, day care staff, relatives) at all times. She'll play with their hair, touch their jewelry, compliment them on their clothes/house/hair/etc. J exercises perfect compliance in new situations with new people. At every school he's ever attended, he's gone three months with no behavioral incidents. After three months when he sees he's not going anywhere, the deal is off. This year the principal and teachers were so concerned and emailed us multiple times in October when J let his guard down; I explained that this is the real J--that now he feels safe at school and knows he's not going anywhere....I'm sure they thought I was a nut-bag.

This morning on the way to school J argued with me about something; I replied by saying, "Thank you for letting me know that we still need to practice being compliant" (a phrase our therapist has instructed us to use). J retorted with a top-of-his-lungs scream, throwing his backpack at me, yelling I was mean, and kicking the back of seat until we arrived at school. While at a stop light, I reached behind me and took his shoes off so he didn't damage my car. He was still out of control when the bell rang, so I scooped him out of the car--shoeless---and carried him into school. The principal, the secretary, and a handful of kids stared, mouths open. I sat him down in the front foyer and we practiced following instructions until he was ready to go to school....late for the fifth time this year thanks to these morning power struggles.

Admittedly: I am EXHAUSTED. The mental effort and physical restraint it takes to parent my children is leaving me feeling like an overused simile. My body aches on a regular basis. My nerves are shot. Taking my kids both into public places alone, is my nightmare because it inevitably elicits judgmental stares from strangers when I use the integrative parenting techniques suggested by our therapist and RAD literature. And still, I love them. I love them so much that I'll quit my full-time job (that I love) to be more free to take them to counseling and Occupational Therapy and psychiatry appointments or just to run to school to eat lunch with them. I love them so much that I'll fight my instinct to spank them when they're defiant because physical consequences don't work for RAD kids. I love them so much that I'll drag my ass and theirs to a store in the evening so we can practice being appropriate while I shop. I love them so much that I'll bypass reading my new memoir to read a book on parenting kids with attachment trauma. I love them so much that I'll try to ignore the judgmental stares and comments from people who have no clue what it's like to parent my children. I will love them through their tantrums--I'll pop in my ear plugs and rub their back while they scream and kick out all their mad. Parenting kids with attachment trauma is tough work...so find a foster or a foster-adoptive parent and give them a hug, buy them a beer, withhold advice (especially if you're not or have ever been a foster parent), and tell them they're doing a good job because, damn, they need this encouragement.

Kids with histories of trauma and the holidays

My husband and I have two six-year-olds adopted from foster care. Our son has lived with us since he was four, and our daughter moved in when she was five. We're still a relatively new family, and prior to our kids' arrival in our home, their lives were filled with turmoil and trauma from neglect, exposure, and abuse. This trauma manifests itself in interesting ways, especially during the holiday season. For kids with histories of trauma, consider these four reasons why the holidays are not so merry:

1. The holidays are a mix of sugar, relatives spoiling our kids, Christmas programs, late nights, and trips out of town. Basically, the holidays blow--especially for kids with trauma who often have “chaos brains” (brains that are accustomed to a constant state of fight or flight). Chaos brains are best regulated by having predictable, consistent routines (routine may as well be an antonym to the phrase holiday season). The minute there is a break in this the everyday structure, our kids’ chaos brains tend to spin out of control and breed more chaos. For our kids this looks like excessive silliness, constant running wherever they are (home, school, stores, etc.), and an increase in impulsive behavior from November through January which all lead to an increase in mamma's drinking.

2. They worry their behavior will prevent them from receiving presents from Santa. Our six-year-olds know the whole Santa story; they’ve heard that Santa only brings presents to “good” boys and girls...we’ve tried using it as leverage on many occasions. Desperate to stop the madness, my husband downloaded the app, A Call from Santa. During a fit of crazy behavior from our daughter, he used the app to have Santa “call” and tell her she was being a naughty girl and reminded her there were only 27 days until Christmas. There was a rare two minutes of silence when she gave the phone back to my husband, mortified. The silence was really the calm before the storm, and before long wailing and fat elephant tears ensued. Immediately we became the worst parents in North America; I wanted to apologize to her and spill the beans about Santa being a fraud.

Many kids fear that their bad behavior will earn them a lump of coal on Christmas morning, but for our kids, this fear is rooted deep in trauma because they believe their bad behavior has earned them way more than just a lump of coal in their stocking.  They believe their poor choices are what got them removed from their birth parents. So the Santa business or the Elf on the Shelf crap--all of that reinforces our kids’ belief that they are not good enough to receive presents or love or affection.

3. The holidays can cause them to self-sabotage. It’s common for kids with traumatic backgrounds to want to control situations. The holiday season is rife with enjoyable opportunities for families: trips to visit Santa, picking out and wrapping presents, baking cookies placing store bought cookies on fancy paper plates, eating massive amounts of Life-Savers from those $.97 Life-Saver books. Unfortunately, kids with traumatic pasts often don’t trust that they’ll get to participate in these festivities because they think their behavior will cause the fun to be stripped from them or because they have experiences of previously unfulfilled promises. So, on the brink of fun activities, they will often self-sabotage so they can choose to miss out rather than risk having an experience taken away from them again.

Our kids are known for self-destructing. After recovering from a turkey, stuffing, and family hangover, we decided to put up our Christmas tree. Our kids love to read, so we busted out the stack of Christmas books, set up a cozy spot for them on the couch, and asked them to read together while we put the fake branches on our fake Christmas tree trunk. “Once we get the tree built, then you can help us fluff it out. Please stay on the couch and read until then, okay?” They both nodded and got busy reading. Approximately 47 seconds later, our son jumped off the couch and proceeded to run through the piles of fake pine needles that our fake tree had shed during its removal from the box. Our living room was a disaster zone of Christmas decorations and fake pine needles, so to avoid more chaos, we sent him to his room where he happily played with his cars and trucks as if that’s what he wanted in the first place. Twenty minutes into our attempt to decorate the tree with our family, both kids were in their rooms for what appeared to be intentional defiance, and my husband and I swore as we proceeded with the terrible job of fluffing out our fake tree by ourselves.

4. The holidays remind them of all they've lost. Our kids didn't have much in the way of material possessions to begin with, so you'd think that receiving gifts on Christmas morning would be exciting for them. While it is exciting, it is also overwhelming.

The first Christmas with our son, we showered him with gifts, which resulted in an immediate tantrum that lasted most of the morning. We couldn't figure out the cause for the melt-down; did he want a blue sled instead of a red sled? Did we not explain clearly enough the purpose of a sled and how much fun it is? We had given him nearly everything from his Christmas list. Pissed that our Christmas morning didn’t meet the expectations I had of our first Christmas as a family, I stormed off leaving my husband to deal with our new son’s confusing behavior. It wasn't until after the chaos of the holiday season passed when he said something out of the blue about never receiving Christmas gifts from his birth parents that we were able to understand that perhaps his Christmas morning tantrum came from a place of loss--a reminder of the gifts promised but never received from his birth parents, a reminder that it wasn't natural for him to be spending Christmas morning, a time normally reserved for immediate family, away from his immediate family. Remembering my response to his behavior on Christmas morning, my cheeks burned red in humiliation, and I reached out to hug my boy.

As a foster-adoptive mamma, I’ve learned to accept that the holidays will most likely be difficult for our family. We probably won’t be able to engage in every fun activity our community has to offer, and we may not be able to attend every holiday party we’re invited to. Instead, we’ll spend extra time at home together. It takes an extra dose of patience, so if you know a foster parent or foster-adoptive parent, send them extra empathy and love booze this holiday season to help get them through it.

Birthday dilemma

"Jon really struggles with friendships; he really doesn't have any," his teacher told us during a meeting last week. My heart sank and tears immediately welled in my eyes. This is not a new revelation for us; J has always struggled with developing relationships with kids his own age, but no mother wants to be told that her kid doesn't have friends...no matter how many times she has heard it or seen it herself.

J turns seven in a month, and now that we are sort of settled, I'd like to have a birthday party that allows him to invite the boys from his class so we can start making these connections with other parents, but it's "regular" kid things like birthday parties that remind me that my child is not a regular child. J is a sweet boy who loves his family and has a curiosity for the world, but making friends is not his forte. While he is one month away from seven, emotionally, he is more like one month away from five. He doesn't have a wide window of tolerance for most social situations thanks to the trauma he endured early in life evident in his behaviors at school (screaming when he's angry, immaturely putting his hands on friends to get their attention, chewing on random classroom items, and just an overall inability to stay self-regulated).

So now we have a dilemma. Do we march on with a plan to invite the boys in his class to a party and risk none of them showing up? Or do we decide to just have an intimate party with family and close family friends skipping the invites to classmates? It breaks my heart to even have to think about this, and as much as I desire a "normal," "regular" family situation--I'm trying to embrace reality...

T for Tantrums

Remember The Muppets and Sesame Street?!
Image source. 

Chocolate covered cherries, two Jolly Ranchers, a mini Milky Way, and two packs of fruit snacks. I'm not grading  papers anymore, so tonight's candy binge is brought to us by the letter T--T for tantrums. The theme for today (and everyday for the past month and a half) has been tantrums. If we had our own TV show, it would be called, 19 Tantrums and Counting (Everyday). The intro would be blips of my kids screaming for various reasons and me shoving candy in my mouth while Nate walked around the house with his bluetooth headphones in playing some wizard game on his phone.

In all seriousness, the tantrums have been off the chain ever since about the end of September--around Nate's 33rd birthday....I mean, I know it sucks that he's old and all....anyway. I've tried to identify triggers, and for K, it seems like her trigger was when we gave her a picture of her birthmom that we found online. "Try to find something from her past," they said. "It will help them process their trauma," they said. While I get the concept behind this, it seems like shit blew up after we gave K this picture. She started tantruming more, having bathroom issues, and just overall refusing to attach with us by choosing to be overly silly or overly emotional until we had to send her to her room to take some space (I'm not sure if this was deliberate or her brain's way of trying to make sense of this hot mess). Maybe she wasn't ready to have that picture. Maybe the kids' tantrums and overall emotional instability began around the same time we started the home improvement projects which has caused our home to be in a bit of disarray physically and mentally. Nate's worked hard on the cabinets and floors, and I've pulled my weight by taking on more with the kids--maybe this has caused some of the issues.

Whatever the trigger, the behaviors are here and in our faces. Bedtime routines are the worst. No matter how structured we are with the bedtime routine, shit seems to fall apart each night and someone ends up screaming in their rooms (usually it's Nate...just kidding). (Have I mentioned that my mouth tends to get out of control when I'm stressed? It's a bad habit.) Tonight I found myself standing in the kitchen, legs shaking as J screamed in his room because, after refusing to blow his nose and being warned twice, I used a baby snot sucker on him. While Jon screamed, Nate sat in K's room trying to get her to stop screaming (after he was goofing around with the kids, she got over the top silly and out of control, and he asked her to take some space to calm down...which of course means, cry and scream until you lose control of your body). I contemplated leaving, but I didn't know where to go since we now live in a town without a Target. I wish my first inclination was to get on my knees and pray, to surrender all of this to God, to repent for the anger and frustration I have towards my kids---but my gut reaction is to run....I realize this makes me terrible. My devotion this morning was all about submitting to God's timing and accepting His blessing with grace and communing with Him in times of struggle...but the later requires a trust that apparently I don't have right now.

To calm myself down, I exchanged texts with a friend who told me that I had to consider why these tantrums bother me so much....I think they bother me because they prevent me from having a "normal" relationship with my child. I feel like all I want is for things to be normal in my home. I want my kids to have normal experiences at school without behavior charts and trips to the principal's office. I want to be able to just go out and have fun as a family without having to talk with the kids about how to handle their urges to be silly, a reflection of their anxiety. I want to be able to be a normal family, and I'm ashamed that my home isn't normal.

I clearly need to let go of the idea of normality because nothing about my kids, about our home is "normal." It's not their fault...it's not my fault...it's not Nate's fault. It's just the way it is. Letting go of normal is just so difficult.

We're a high-needs family

Yesterday I exchanged texts with a fellow foster-adoptive momma who also has high-needs kiddos; she swore she was going to get a tattoo that reads, "If foster parenting is so much like standard parenting, why haven't you done it? I'm not asking for your pity so stop providing your less than helpful encouragement!" We commiserated together at the insensitive things people have said when trying to use empathy, and mostly it made us laugh and helped us relieve some tension. So today I'm thinking about what parents of high-needs kids need....

Recognizing color

In my experience, the most meaningful, revelatory conversations happen while we're washing our kids up in the bath. Maybe it's because it's the only time they get to themselves free of stimulus so they are more apt to ponder. Maybe it's the proverbial washing away of the day's worries--whatever it is, I appreciate hearing their insights during bath time. This time as Nate washed K up, I busied myself in the kids' rooms putting clothes away and arranging their books while I listened to Nate and K's conversation unfold.

"I wish my skin was white," she told Nate.

"Why do you wish that?" Nate inquired.

"I don't know," she responded.

To be honest, I didn't hear the rest of the conversation because I immediately began taking inventory of all we did or didn't do to make her wish this. She only has one brown Barbie among a sea of white Barbies; she has one brown baby and two white babies. Characters in the books she has: all white. I immediately felt terrible. All of the stuff we have for her has been acquired in the form of gifts from others--which has been a huge blessing, but it finally occurred to me this weekend that these gifts scream of whiteness. There are only few times in my life where I have been the minority, and each time was uncomfortable. Moving into a new home in a new part of town with a new family of a new skin color...I cannot imagine how awkward she must feel at times. I feel terrible that we didn't think and plan for this.

On Friday I showed my sophomores this TED Talk video from a Nigerian writer (it's embedded below) as they begin to identify the single stories they think people assume about them so they can write pieces that speak back to those stories and reveal who they really are. In the beginning of the lecture Adichie explains that all of the stories she wrote when she was a small girl featured white characters drinking ginger beer playing in the snow and talking about the weather--none of which she actually knew of but had learned about through all the books she read since most of the books she had access to were British. She mentioned that she did not ever see herself in literature as a young child. Sandra Cisneros (one of my favorite writers) also talks about this very concept which is why she wrote The House on Mango Street so she could finally see people like her in books. I don't want K to ever feel inferior because of her skin color...I want her to love her deep chocolate skin and her kinky hair...I've got some work to do.

So, today I spent a good chunk of time online researching the best books for African-American girls and made a trip to the library to find books with main characters that looked like K. I brought home a stack for both kids to read through. After the holidays, I think I will swap out some of her white dolls for darker skinned dolls and invest in more books with kids like her. It's not huge, but at least it's a starting point.