that's what she said : CBC edition

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This week, I wanted to share some posts from some of the amazing bloggers I got to meet this week at the Casual Blogger's Conference.  One of the things I love about these women is their ability to communicate some of the universal issues of being female in their writing.  I read these posts and think, YEAH.  What she said.

Casey talks about being in the sludge of depression with clarity and vulnerability.

Allison's post on motherhood and the sum of her accomplishments really resonates with me. 


Jessica is quite possibly one of the funniest people I've ever met, and I love her treatise on the etiquette of the ladies' room.

Loralee tells a story about how much we can be affected by the words of another person - and allow our life to be altered by one opinion. 

Heather read this post during the keynote on Saturday, about bringing her first child home from the hospital and the honest feelings of grief she had for her own life.  She took me to the ugly cry.


Kristina gives perhaps the most hilarious marital advice I have ever heard.

(This is a picture of me wearing Kristina's famous snuggie. I put it on because I thought it would be a funny picture.  Ten minutes later I was still wearing it.  The thing is gloriously comfortable.)


I read this post of Kim's before the conference and I related so much to her tendency to hide behind her kids, and how exposed she feels without them.

Rylee talks honestly about the hardships of being a working mom, and making the most of the few hours she gets with her baby each day.

Melissa writes difficulties of being a new mom, and how much it changes her in ways she never expected.

I love Jenni's take on being hospitable when you visit someone's blog.

And Natalie has been doing a series on reading through the old testament.  This post is the first of five so far.  They are all hilarious, but this one, about the infertile ladies of the OT, was also very poignant.

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crazy little thing called web

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I am in Salt Lake City, Utah today.  I took a plane by myself yesterday for the first time in . . . EVER?  The first time in a long time.  I was so excited to be in a seat, alone, with a book and my ipod.  It was heaven for about an hour.  Then we hit some turbulence, and I spent the rest of the trip doing concentrated breathing, white-knuckling the armrests, and holding a bag in front of me trying my best not to puke.  I didn't.  I could have, though.

I was picked up at the airport by two people I've never met, who agreed to let me tag along after I tweeted about a need for a ride.  We've officially dubbed this practice "twitchiking".   I don't recommend it . . . thought it turned out very well for me.  Even though I was still holding that bag up to my mouth when they met me.  Lucky for me they let me in the car anyway.  (Thank you Allison and Riley).

Then I met up with two other people I've never met, who I'm sharing a hotel room with.  Again, something I don't recommend: sleeping with people after you meet online.  But again, working out well. (Thank you Heather and Melissa).

Heather, Me, and Not Melissa (Shannon)

 

I am speaking at a blog conference this weekend.  This is my first blogging conference.  It is a crazy alternate universe here, where people talk about SEO and URLs and WHRRL, and introduce each other with their blog name instead of their real name.  Being here feels very much like being at a theatre convention.  On the one hand, I look around and think, these are my people.  On the other hand, I look around and think, crap we are a bunch of nerds.

I am have a blast with group of fun, smart women.  We've had intense conversations about loss and sex and faith and lame PR pitches.  After our sessions today, a group of us went to a karoake bar for some of the best people-watching I've seen in a long time.  David Lynch has nothing on Utah.

What's that one about 12 Mormons, 3 Christians, and a non-practicing Jew walking into a bar . . . ?

Fun night.  I miss my kids.  Speaking on blogging and faith tomorrow, and home on Sunday.  Hopefully with a less bumpy ride.

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cleaning out the office

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I've wanted to be a psychotherapist since I was in eighth grade. It's what I went to school for, and it's what I've done for the last ten years. I've been licensed and with with the same private practice for ten years. It was a very comfortable place to me. I liked my colleagues, I liked that the job was challenging and cerebral, and I loved that I could set my own hours and work part-time for a decent wage. One of the things that drew me to this career was that I thought it would be very compatible with motherhood. I thought I could see a part-time caseload during Mark's off days, while staying home with the kids.

This worked out well when Jafta was a baby. I really enjoyed going in to work, and the adult conversation was a welcome change to the quiet days at home with a baby. When India came along, it got a little more difficult to juggle. I felt a little more frazzled in session, and really struggled to keep up with returning phone calls and setting appointments during the week. Once I had Karis, I could barely find the time to call back the referrals I got. The few long-standing clients I saw after her arrival were hard for me. I felt like my brain was in short-circuit mode. I just couldn't get my head into a space where I could really be present with clients. I am an introvert, and motherhood was draining any energy I had that I could previously devote to my job.

Now that Kembe is here, it has become increasingly obvious that I won't be able to continue in this line of work (at least any time soon). Parenting four kids is incredibly taxing for me as an introvert - but parenting Kembe also requires a great deal of therapeutic intervention. I am daily trying to help him grieve his losses and break through some of his emotional and behavioral issues. With all the trauma we are working through at home, it seems impossible to then go and help others work through their own stuff.

I'm also finding it more and more difficult to handle "heaviness" in general. I have often thought that my cynicism and sarcasm have been shaped, in part, as a way to cope with a job where I deal with the worst of humanity, day in and day out. I look back at the last ten years and wonder how it has shaped me to hear story after story of the way humans are ugly and hurtful to each other. From divorce to child abuse to domestic violence to infidelity - I have heard it all. There have been many times when I've wondered if I wouldn't be happier arranging flowers, or designing furniture. As a therapist you are supposed to learn the art of detaching - but I have found that detachment follows me into other arenas of life, which hasn't always been good.

I've been holding on to this career, though, partly because a large part of my identity has been wrapped up in this career I chose before I knew myself well, and partly because I feel like the years of grad school and student loans mean that I need to stick it out. (There is also the bigger part of not knowing what else I can do professionally, but that's another story). But I've been avoiding any acknowledgment that I'm done - telling referrals that I'm on "maternity leave", even though it's been a year. And telling colleagues that I'm just taking a break.

Last week, my office called . . . and in a very gentle and therapeutic way, suggested that maybe it was time for me to come get my diplomas and books. They were absolutely right. I haven't been into the office in nearly a year. But something in me wanted to hold that place, because I just didn't want to admit that I am too compromised to be a therapist right now. Or maybe ever.

So I went and got my things, and packed up ten years worth of books with titles like Working with Emotional Intelligence and Anxiety Disorders and Phobias.  As I packed it into my car, I wondered what to do with all this books.  And I don't just mean where to put these books (though that poses a problem, too).  But the more existential question: what do I do now, with all this knowledge, and without the ability to apply it?

(And yes, the obvious answer here is that I can apply the knowledge with my children.  But I'm having a little pity-party of vocational identity, so let's not go there, okay?)

For the time being, I'm still teaching a couple classes in the grad psych department, and supervising a few interns, but I've officially taken down my shingle as a private practice therapist.   Books are in the garage.  Diplomas are in a box.  Self-identity undeniably in flux.

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in better news

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- We got to hang out with the Livesays this weekend.  They live in Haiti and we've gotten to know them over the past few years, and we experienced the earthquake together.  They've also become dear friends. The last time I saw Tara was during a tearful goodbye as her kids and I pulled away from the Haitian embassy in an airport-bound SUV.  It was nice to hang out under less stressful circumstances.  They are speaking at a church here in Orange County tomorrow.  If you are local, you should come.

- It's been a while since I've found a book that totally sucked me in, that I wanted to read late into the night.  I'm reading Little Bee right now, and it is that kind of book.  

In your country, if you are not scared enough already, you can go to watch a horror film.  Afterward you can go out of the cinema into the night and for a little while there is horror in everything.  Perhaps there are murderers lying in wait for you at home.  You think this because there is a light on in your house that your are certain you did not leave on.  And when you remove your makeup in the mirror last thing, you see a strange look in your own eyes.  It is not you.  For one hour you are haunted, and you do not trust anybody, and then the feeling fades away.  Horror in your country is something you take a dose of to remind yourself that you are not suffering from it.
 
For me and the girls from my village, horror is a disease and we are sick with it.  It is not an illness you can cure yourself of by standing up and letting the big red cinema seat fold itself up behind you.  That would be a good trick.  If I could do that, please believe me, I would already be standing in the foyer.  I would be laughing with the kiosk boy, and exchanging British one-pound coins for hot buttered popcorn, and saying, Phew, thank the Good Lord all that is over, that is the most frightening film I ever saw and I think next time I will go to see a comedy, or maybe a romantic film with kissing.   But the film in your memory, you cannot walk out of so easily.  Wherever you go it is always playing.  So when I say that I am a refugee, you must understand that there is no refuge.

- We've attended some really fun weddings in the last month.  Our friend Carlos is a hip-hop dancer, and he had a little surprise for his new bride to kick off the reception.  (The groom comes out midway through).  If you know me at all, you know that nothing makes me happier than choreographed dancing in any form(flashmobs, musicals, what have you).  This made me very, very happy.




- I really enjoy the show Glee. I know it's not for everyone, and the plot is ridiculous, but I still adore the singing and dancing and showchoir memories. I might have shed a tear or two during the Les Miz number, because:
1) Indina Menzel? my favorite broadway actress ever
2) the longing for birthparent connection
3) the reminder of the beauty of this song even after 1242 youtube links of Susan Boyle singing it

- Jafta watched Star Wars for the first time today.  I was a crazy dork for Star Wars as a child.  The entire wall of my bedroom was covered in Star Wars playing cards (with my favorite, the one of Hans Solo and Leia having their first kiss, in the middle right next to my bed).   Jafta has been begging to watch it for over a year, and I was reluctant because I thought he would be having nightmares of red-eyed hooded desert people.  But I have to confess, once we put it on, I was a little giddy at sharing it with him.  If only I had kept all those action figures I used to have . . .

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faking it

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If I'm being honest, it is getting increasingly difficult to write about my life in this public space.  It's easy to post a funny story about my foibles, or rant about something in the media.  But life at home is heavy - probably about as heavy as it has ever been.

I've told the story before of how whenever someone is mean to India at school, she comes home and repeats whatever mean phrase she heard to me, in a way to become the aggressor instead of the wounded.  It makes her feel some sense of power to take out the hurt by inflicting it on someone else.  And when India does it, it's usually something rather benign, something silly that would make for a funny story later, when she's out of earshot.

Now Kembe, on the other hand.  Kembe has three years of pent-up wounding, and he is feeling out of control as he learns to live in a family.  Much like India, his three-year-old self looks to the safe people in his life to experiment with power and aggression.  And the behaviors that result are not things that make for a funny blog story.  They are often a little horrifying, really.

So I struggle with how to describe the ways our family is hurting, because I don't think exposing his brokeness in specific ways is honoring him.  I believe that Kembe is a good kid - an absolutely lovely kid at heart.  But at the same time, I feel the need to be honest about the fact that the last few months have been some of the darkest for our family.  As we (all five of us) have become the recipients of his trauma in different ways, it seems like we are all living under a cloud of anxiety.

Kembe and I both fake it well, in our own ways.  Kembe is absolutely charming with people outside our immediate family. He has a million-dollar smile and a hilarious sense of humor.  I'm sure to the outside world it looks like we have it together.  At home, it is a very different story.  And me, I hide behind sarcasm . . .  or just plain hide.  In my house.  For days.  Only emerging for preschool pick-up and the occasional playdate, where I try to pretend like we are a normal family, capable of doing Normal Family Things.  Some moments, I even feel normal.   Those moments are fleeting.

I know that we will get there.  But enduring this season is harder than I ever imagined.

I was talking to a friend about it the other day, and she told me that she was surprised to hear how bad I was struggling.  She assumed I was doing alright because I'm still posting snarky status updates and blog posts.  And I suppose that sometimes, social media is the easy place where I can fake it . . . and not because I want to pretend for others.   But because I need to pretend for myself.  I can pop in and profess concern about the LOST finale or some other water cooler chat fodder, because it makes me feel normal.  It gives me a reprieve from the all-consuming realities of our day-to-day right now.  And because nobody wants to see "Kristen is contemplating how she can best muffle her audible crying from four small children" in their facebook feed, do they?  (And because, dammit, I don't want that to be true.  Even if it is).

(Case in point: today. 4pm. Jafta: "Mommy, what's that sound? Do you have the hiccups or something?")

So, yeah. I fake it.  But not really for you.  For me.

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pondering

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Romans 12:1-2 (The Message)

 ^1-2 So here’s what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don’t become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You’ll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you.

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Sandra Bullock and the complexities of transracial adoption

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Since Sandra Bullock announced her adoption of an African American baby, I've seen countless news medias reporting on the "controversy" surrounding transracial adoption.  It seems like celebrity adoptions often become the grist for the mill of those who have an agenda to push about transracial adoption.  To me, this recent CNN interview is a perfect example of the polarity of thinking when it comes to the practice.

Lisa Rollins shares her personal  concerns that some white people are not equipped to help black children deal with racism (which the next speaker handily illustrates), but then goes on to suggest that there are options for children in fostercare or children in Haiti that have been ignored.  She also suggests that black social workers are not seeking out same-race families - as if there are many families lined up to adopt African American children in the fostercare system.  But the facts don't line up with her narrative: of the 300,000 orphans that were in Haiti  prior to the earthquake, only 900 left to be adopted.  The majority of Haitian orphans are being cared for in their own country.  And kinship adoption is the most common form of adoption from fostercare, with black women representing the majority of people adopting black children

According to the Department of Health and Human Services, tens of thousands of nonwhite children are waiting for adoptive families, and many have remained in foster care for at least two years. Of the 525,000 children in foster care, 45 percent are African American.  So the fact that Lisa Rollins suggests that there are easy answers and alternatives to the practice of transracial adoption when the numbers are so staggering?   Makes my blood boil a little bit.

But then, in the other corner and representing the "transracial adoption as puppies and roses" side is Wendy Walsh, who suggests that race is not an issue at all, and that adoption is colorblind and all that jazz  She describes her kids as a racial curiosity, and seems to have no clue of how that might feel for them.  She is completely obvious to the possibility that transracially adopted children might experience some racial disconnect, and even goes so far as to say that race should only be examined if you are over 40.  (Have I got a story about some 4-year-olds for her.)

This report mostly bothers me because it is further polarizing the wide gap between adoptive parents and adult adoptees, choosing two women with extremely biased views and pitting them against each other in a debate.  And the result is that neither point is heard, both sides dismiss the real issues on the table, and the chasm between adoptive parents and adult adoptees widens.



The reality: there are black children waiting for homes, and a shortage of black families.
The reality: transracially adopted children will struggle with their racial identity. 

I just wish that the adoption community could begin to see the complexity of the situation, instead of pushing the typical agendas of either ignoring the need for families for waiting children OR ignoring the racial issues inherent in transracial adoption.  Why is it so hard for us to look at both at the same time?

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that's what she said (pop culture edition)

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This week in That's What She Said, I'm keeping it light.  And unisex.  And maybe a little judgemental.  Because really, in pop culture, there is just so much to mock these days.



Kristina covers some of the best celebrity quotes that may or may not be true.

John Acuff talks about his embarrassment for male singers who don't play instruments.

Jessica Gotlieb talks about the dance routine in which 8-year-olds are grinding and dressed like strippers.  These kinds of parents are the people who keep me in business when their kids need years of therapy later in life.  Just saying.

Los Angelista goes on one of her random rants that are always hilarious.

I can never resist a good Glen Beck skewering.  The Daily Show is always great at exposing just how crazy the teaparty's sweetheart really is. 

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Back in Black - Glenn Beck's Nazi Tourette's
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Tea Party

And if you need more Beck train-wreck, check out SoulBrother 2.0's commentary on Stephen Colbert calling out Beck for trying to be Martin Luther King. 

Boo Mama recaps American Idol - I no longer have time for this show, but I like reading these to pretend like I am in-the-know.


And speaking of recaps, I always enjoy a good LOST recap.  Mostly because I am so infuriated with the show, and feel like I am living in a world surrounded by crazy people who keep calling the show "brilliant" and expecting that this is all gonna wrap up in a satifactory way.  i.e., my husband, who watches it every week as I sit by, offering my critical commentary every few minutes.  People, I'm only trying to help.   Do I need to remind you that Felicity ended with a "oh wait, that was all just a dream" revelation?  Do we need to talk about the last season of Alias?  Oh, the past betrayals from JJ Abrams are getting me all riled up again.  Anyways, Shannon does a great weekly recap here, and MamaPop's hilarious weekly sendup is here.  And once that season finale roles and you are still confused and disappointed and wondering how you can get that part of your life back, don't say I didn't warn you.

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sean penn on cnn

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I have to admit, I have been rolling my eyes at all of the news programs that have appointed Sean Penn as an expert on Haiti.  But I will give him credit. He's still there, and he is righteously pissed with the bureaucratic nightmare and speaking out for the people of Haiti.  I recognize the rage he exhibits in this interview - I think it represents the way so many of us feel who care for this country.  It's hard not be enraged by the way aid is not getting where it is needed, despite the money and people that have been flooding in.  The story of this little boy's senseless death is just one of many, I am sure.

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finalized

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In a shocking display of government efficiency, we finalized Kembe's adoption today!  I had no idea it could happen so quickly.  I've been working on it for the last three months, but I wasn't sure if the judge would count his adoption as final in Haiti, or if she would make us go through the steps of a local domestic adoption.  We didn't have an attorney, and the court clerks were miserably unhelpful, but with the assistance of Google, a rudimentary grasp of legal jargon, and several trips to the courthouse, we managed to get the process moving on our own.  We had to submit a post-placement homestudy and arrived at the courthouse with a briefcase full of documents.  Fortunately, since we had approval from both Haiti and the US side, the judge found enough evidence to allow us to adopt.

We didn't tell anyone about the hearing today (except Grandma and Grandpa).  Honestly, I was trying to keep it low-key in my mind so that we wouldn't be disappointed if it didn't happen.  We didn't tell the kids what was going on.  When we walked into the room, it all happened very fast.  The next thing I knew, we were taking an oath and signing papers.

This is our second time to finalize the adoption of a three-year-old.  Both times, I have gotten so emotional as the judge asks if we agree to "bestow upon them all the rights of a natural-born child".  With childbirth, no one asks you if you promise to love and keep your child.  There is something profound about standing next to a child you know and promising to take them as your family.  It is a similar feeling to getting married - a conscious decision to love them, and do life together.

I think Mark and I are still a little shocked.  Everything has been so problematic and complicated with his adoption process (as it was with Jafta's too).  I think we expected to be sent home today with a list of more tasks.  We are so relieved to be done.

Well, almost done.  Now we have to go through immigration to make him a citizen.  But that can wait for now.  Mommy needs a break from filling out legal forms.

(Jafta was actually very thrilled about Kembe's adoption.  This scowl involves some frustration over having to wait to finish a Krispy Kreme donut).

On our way home, India kept asking about when we were going to adopt her.  I explained in every way I could that she did not need to be adopted.  But she was distraught, and adamant that she wants to be adopted, too.  She has witnessed this ceremony for both her brothers and she obviously gets that there is something special about it.  She seems wholly unimpressed that she grew in my tummy.  She wants me to raise my hand and make a commitment in front of her.  We may be staging some sort of adoption ceremony for India one of these days - but it does make me happy that my children view adoption as an affirming aspect of our family.  I know that my boys will process the loss issues of adoption as they move through different developmental stages.  But today, we celebrate the beauty of becoming a family this way.

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swagger wagon

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As someone who recently succumbed to the minivan (a Sienna), I can't resist sharing this video.  Could it be that this ad campaign might re-brand the minivan as a bastion of ironic coolness?  Like the mustache, or Member's Only jackets, or listening to Erasure?  Could my minivan actually be giving me street cred?

What do you muthafathas think?

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mother's day

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Today was a nice, relaxing day - mostly because Mark let me sleep in until 9am.  Oh the luxury.  We went to church and then we went to Habana's restaurant - a Cuban joint at a place called the Anti-Mall.  It's safe to say that Habana's is about the last place most people would choose for a Mother's Day lunch - they blare ambient techno, the servers seem perpetually annoyed by children, and it's typically full of college-aged hipsters who are taking a break from trying on clothes at the adjacent Urban Outfitters.  But I love it, and five years ago when we were still a childless couple, I chose it for that very reason. 

Let me repeat that.  Five years ago, I had no children.  To borrow a phrase from Tara, somewhere along the line, things got seriously out of control. 

 

I would be remiss if I didn't mention my thanfkulness today for my own mom, for Nancy, my amazing mother-in-law, and for the foster mom and nannies who loved on my boys before they joined our family.  And, of course, the first mothers who gave them life.

(Jafta with his foster mom, who cared for him until he was six months old)

(Kembe and his nannies in Haiti)

Happy Mother's Day, to all women who nurture children.

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that's that she said: required reading edition

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I have but one post for today.  One post, that is so rich in wisdom and truth that I have read and re-read it several times this week. One post that speaks so much that I want every adoptive parent, family member, friend, and random acquaintance I know to read it, too.  (That means you).

Because even if you aren't an adoptive parents, the principles can apply to the way you interact with your child.  And even if you aren't a parent, the principles can apply to the way you relate to the world. And even if you don't relate to the scriptural references, the principles of unconditional love . . . gold.

Love and Adoption

Go read it. Really.

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adoption and loss

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I've been trying to figure out a way to write about some of the challenges we are dealing with, while at the same time respecting Kembe's process.  It's difficult to write about adoption issues - adoption (especially of a non-infant) is not for the faint of heart.  I want to be honest about our struggles so that we aren't presenting that false sense of "happily ever after" the minute an adoptive child joins their family.  Yet at the same time, it feels a little vulnerable to share some of the realities in a public space, and it's often easier to just tell stories about paper-cut inducing blocks.

Nevertheless, the reality is that adoption begins with a loss, and Kembe is feeling that loss heavily right now.  He is grieving, and trying to figure out his place in our family.  Sometimes he does this by trying to act like the parent.  Sometimes he does this by acting wounded, defeated, and depressed.  Sometimes he rages.  Other times, he isolates.

The difficulty is that, try as we might to give him a safe space, he just isn't at a developmental level to articulate all that he is feeling and experiencing, so it all comes out through his behavior.  As a parent, it is both heartbreaking and exhausting to have him struggling so much.   I am constantly trying to figure out his cues, to head him off at the pass before a meltdown, and to anticipate his needs and give him a sense of control, while still establishing my role as the parent.  By the end of the day, I am a very tired mom. Who am I kidding.  By noon I am a very tired mom.

The hard part is, both Kembe and I find ourselves coming into this relationship with more loss than we expected.  We didn't have that slow transition time that we planned, where we would spend some significant time in Haiti, watching his routines closely so we could incorporate them into our lives.  We never got the chance to spend those last few days with him on his turf, in his old home with his new parents.  He never got to see his caregivers interact with us at the transition.  He was put on a plane in the middle of the night, without us, and then herded into a customs room where that sat for the entire night.  Hardly the gentle transition we envisioned.  But this was yet another effect of the earthquake, where so many lost so much.

The earthquake also took its toll on me, so that Kembe came home to a mom still in post-traumatic stress mode from those few days in Haiti, and feeling ill-equipped and overwhelmed.  He and I are both dealing with shock, sadness and rage.  We are struggling next to each other, and sometimes against each other.  It has been hard.

In public, Kembe is a bright and engaging kid, who charms the pants off everyone he meets.  He does great at school, and at church.  At playdates, he is the life of the party.  When he is just with me, he is very different.  Someone recently commented, "isn't it great that he trusts you enough to just show you all of his ugly feelings?"

Um, yes?  I mean, sure.  I know that it is.  But it is still very painful.  I long for the easy and affectionate relationship we had when he came home, and for the playful way I see him relating to others.  

I was scouring a friend's blog the other night for help, and came across this article. I think it describes what we are going through better than I can right now.

Toddlers who have enjoyed a healthy attachment with a former caregiver, but are not appropriately prepared and transitioned to their new family may aggressively reject mom as a way to protect their former relationship.

Some adoptive moms speculate that their newly adopted toddlers reject them because their children associate them with other women who have caused them pain. Perhaps mom’s voice, touch, or even smell evokes the rage and panic the children experienced when they were hurt by or abandoned by a former caregiver, or perhaps those toddlers do not dare to get close to another woman for fear of being abandoned again. Some toddlers seem to be venting the anger and confusion that naturally results from disruptions in care on the closest available women…their new moms.

Toddlers may initially react indifferently or even display superficial affection for their parents, but then became increasingly hostile as the relationship intensifies. This is a typical pattern reported by mothers of toddlers who were institutionalized. A number of women have told me that their toddlers displayed increasingly ambivalent and rejecting behavior as they started to show signs that they were bonding to their new parents. Toddlers who have been hurt in the past work hard to defend themselves against the potential pain of being hurt or rejected again. One mother speculated that perhaps what her son really hated was that he was starting to care about her.

Anyways, this is what we are experiencing.  None of this is surprising . . . I read enough attachment literature prior to Kembe home to know that this could be something to expect.  What I didn't expect was how compromised I would feel in my own abilities, because of my own trauma issues in the transition.  I also think I expected to be able to view all of this struggle as some sort of a detached and therapeutic superhuman mother, as opposed to the very human person I really am.  Who is not always supremely patient and loving with a hurting child who is lashing out.

So.  We struggle, and seek help, and pray.  And hope for better days ahead.

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haiti tees

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We are excited to finally have our Haiti tees available for sale!  We had been wanting to do a t-shirt fundraiser before Kembe came home - back when we thought we had months of waiting ahead of us .  We've seen other parents do it and it seemed like a great way to cover some of the additional expenses (and debts) that have cropped up in this nearly three-year process.  Now that he is in the US, we have some additional fees as we attempt to finalize his adoption here (between travel expenses, homestudy updates, immigration fees, post-placement reports, court fees, etc).  We have also wanted to do something since the earthquake to raise money for Heartline Haiti, who we believe to be doing so many good things on the ground in Haiti.  We decided to merge the two - so when you buy a t-shirt, you will be supporting our adoption, and we will donate $5 from each sale to Heartline Haiti.  (This is the organization that took such good care of Kembe before he came home, but for more on what they've been doing post-earthquake, click here).

Now on to the t-shirts.  We really wanted to design some t-shirts that people would want to wear . . . shirts with great designs that would become favorite, well-worn tees.  We started with a great base (Hanes Tagless 100% Comfortsoft Cotton).  We were fortunate to have two friends who donated their time and talent: Reed Robinson (designer for Arlington and formerly with Billabong), and M. Brady Clark (also formerly with Billabong, and now a prolific graphic designer) did an amazing job of designing these tees for us, and I'm really excited at the way they've turned out.

So, without further ado, here is the info on the tees, and the links to where you can buy them.  Thanks so much for supporting us in our adoption journey, and for showing your support for the country of Haiti.

Hope, Love, Haiti

adult sizes click here

youth sizes (age 6+) click here

toddler sizes (age 2-6) click here

_________________________________________________

Map of Haiti

adult sizes click here

youth sizes (age 6+) click here

toddler sizes (age 2-6) click here

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Kenbe Fem(Hold Strong)

adult sizes click here

youth sizes (age 6+) click here

toddler sizes (age 2-6) click here

 _______________________________________________________________

Kenbe Fem (three color)

adult sizes click here

youth sizes click here

baby (onesies) click here

maternity click here



If you are willing, we would love to get the word out about our t-shirts by having friends link back on facebook, blogs, and twitter.  Thanks!

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haiti tees :: sneak peak

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We've partnered up with some very talented designers to make some Haiti t-shirts, and I'm so excited with how they have turned out.  We will be selling these as a fundraiser for our adoption and for Heartline Haiti.  I'll give more details soon, but here are a few pictures.

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the first rule about block club . . .

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I got back from my conference late last night, and I must brag on my husband.  Jafta and I came home to a spotless house, and three bathed and peacefully sleeping children.  I don't know what happened while I was gone (I'm guessing that bath before my arrival was the only one of the weekend), but from all outward appearances, Mark and the kids had a great time in my absence.  

There were really only two dire consequences from my time away:

1. Mark allowed a Veggie Tales CD to be played in the car.

2. Mark bought Kembe a real golf club.

Let me explain.  

First, I have worked hard over the past five years strategizing through every parenting decision, with the knowledge that setting precedence for certain things only means certain things will ALWAYS BE.  For example, sure, it's a little stodgy that my kids have never had gum, or have never eaten a meal in front of the tv, or peed in the backyard.  But I know that if you slip just a little on such things and allow it once, these children will turn on you and ask for this special treatment all the livelong day.  This is why I have never . . . NEVER . . . played children's music in the car.  Or ever, really.  I abhor children's music.  I don't think they even need to know the genre exists.  So wouldn't you know, while I'm gone Mark takes the kids to Chick-Fil-A where they get a Veggie Tales CD, which he casually pops into the car on the way home.  Now I ask you, what do you think I listened to all day today? 

    a) Veggie Tales

    b) the sound of children incessantly nagging me to listen to Veggie Tales

(The answer: It doesn't matter.  EQUALLY ANNOYING).

Now, to the golf clubs.  Mark also has a certain obsession with buying sports equipment for the kids.  Despite having a large collection of golf clubs in various sizes, Mark became concerned that Kembe is a lefty and was learning to swing with a right-handed club.  I know you are reading this right now and thinking about the gravity of a three-year-old forming a crippling golf swing in his formative years.  So clearly, the only option for Mark was to take him to Sports Chalet and buy a special left-handed golf club made of forged steel.  Which Jafta got a mouthful of this afternoon in the backyard, when he was standing behind Kembe while he practiced with his new toy.

Let me say this.  A couple inches too high, and Jafta's eye would be black.  A couple of inches to the right, and Jafta would be missing some teeth.  Luckily, his cheek caught the hit, but now his mouth is swollen beyond recognition.  He has asked all day for me to put a band-aid on the inside of his mouth.  But I'm not gonna do it.  Because then he would always think he could have a band-aid on the inside of his mouth.

I sustained some injures in the backyard myself today, where I went to work on assembling a set of cardboard blocks I bought the kids.  I remember playing with these cardboard blocks at my own preschool, and I thought that a set in our home might encourage the kids to build a fort with something other than the sofa cushions.  And besides, look how happily this kids are playing in the promotional shot:

I mean, that little girl is HUGGING the block.  Surely this will buy me hours of quiet play, no?

No.

First of all, it bought me hours of assembling pieces of orgami-detailed cardboard with razor-sharp edges.  Each block took about an hour to assemble.  I'm not exaggerating.  (Yes I am).  But seriously, it was annoying and my hands are covered it cardboard papercuts.  Which could kill you, FYI.  

And the kids?  Once they took possesion of the blocks, it looked less like the picture above and more like this:

(By the way, I was gonna put a picture of three people wrestling . . . because there was also a good bit of that once they had access to the cardboard blocks of doom.  But from experience, let me warn you.  It's best not to search for images of  "wrestling threesome".  Because Google is thinking of something else).

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that's what HE said

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This week, I'm switching it up and highlighting some of the most interesting posts from the testosterone set.


Tim Wise poses an imaginary world where the tea party protestors are black.  I think his observations are provocative, but accurate.

Backpacking Dad is always good for a laugh, but this post on teaching our children and letting them fail will resonate with any parent.

Max Reddick at Soul Brother 2.0 takes a critical look at the mordern gun rights rally, and questions the motivation behind their fervor.

Matt at Conversant Life gives a pointed send-up of the new Arizona law in A Guide to Arizona’s Immigration Law for Non-Profit Christian Organizations.  Ouch.

Shaun Groves pens a thoughtful post on the differences in Christian belief. 

Danny of Dad Gone Mad shares his experience of taking his daughter to the doctor to find out if she is "normal", and articulates the fears so many of us have about our kids' health.


(A post I wrote last week about India running away was syndicated on Blogher this week.  Based on the comments there, it sounds like many of us have had the jolting experience of a child gone missing for a few minutes.  Thankfullt India has not threatened running away since that day.)

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transforming backpacks and deluxe travel neck pouches

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I am in a hotelroom in Seattle.  Alone.  Glass of wine in hand.  Ahhh . . . it is heavenly.  I don't think I've sat in this much quiet since  -- well, I can't even think of a time.   I am here to speak at a women's conference tomorrow.  Jafta came along to have a slumber party at his cousins' house.  It was so nice flying with just one kid - Jafta was awesome on the plane.  He was very excited about his new suitcase, that can be rolled, carried with a handle, or worn like a backpack.  He decided to change it up every 15 seconds or so.  Which made the walk from the door to the gate a little longer than it should have been.  He also decided to tell EVERY PERSON HE SAW that he had a transforming backpack, and would then illustrate it for anyone who would listen.  But . . . he sat quietly and didn't kick the seat in front of him.  So what's a little enthusiam over a backpack?

Also, please notice my new accessory in the photo.  It's hanging around my neck.  After years of franticly searching for my ticket at the gate because I couldn't remember that I'd put it in my pocket/left it at the ticket kiosk/slipped it in my suitcase/thrown it in the trash, I finally decided to buy a tacky " Deluxe Travel Neck Pouch".  (I know you are looking at that flesh-colored nylon monstrosity and thinking *deluxe*.)  I'd love to say that my penchant for losing my ticket is a result of trying to travel with so many kids.  But in truth, this was a pre-existing condition. We all have our tragic flaws. Losing tickets, spilling water on things, and getting lost: those happen to be mine.

I checked into the hotel room at 5pm, and laid down to take a quick nap.  I woke up 2 hours later.  Oops.  Last night was a late night because we met up with my nephew Austin, who is in town on a choir tour with his high school.  We met them at ESPN Zone, where we had the pleasure of paying $8 for a kids' meal.  But then we let the kids play on all the video games without putting coins in.  So who's the sucker now, huh?

(We are.  We're still the suckers).

Tomorrow I'm speaking to a room full of women, and hoping I can get my brain to fully function during that time.  I think this alone time will help. 

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