Birthday Balloons - A rematch

My daughter was invited to a birthday party this afternoon. We decided to give it a try. Since Dad was at work, I brought all three kiddos to the party. At first, S wouldn't go in. Even though she knew the other kids and the mom, she was scared of the strangers. The mom is a preschool teacher, however, so she quickly got her involved. Meanwhile, my oldest, D, was hiding in the hallway because there were balloons - giant, unpredictable, fragile globes that make very loud noises when they pop! 

After getting S settled, I left with the boys. About 45 minutes later, I got a call saying S was crying and wanted me to come back. So we drove back to the party. By the time we got there, she was doing pretty well. We made a family decision to all stay at the party. Almost immediately, two balloons popped. I had to chase D through the hallways and get him calm. He didn't cry or hyperventilate, but he was definitely almost there. When we returned to the party room, it was piñata time! That brought D close to tears again because he thought it would "explode." Sigh. Anyway, the little two enjoyed the piñata, and D got some candy once it was opened up. 

Besides a few minor incidences, it was actually a pretty good experience. Slow and steady wins the race, right? 

Footprints

As I pack my house, I have been thinking about how we each leave footprints in this world.

Even though we were only in this home for two years, we parented six children here. Their hand-prints and toys hidden in remote corners I apparently haven't cleaned well remind me that, even though we may only be present in someplace for a short while (like a job, a town, this earth), we leave marks on the people we meet. Our lives affect those around us, whether positive or negative.

We leave this house in a very different place than when we arrived. We have changed some cosmetic and functional features of this building, but the changes we have undergone while living here are so much more. We experienced the loss of three foster children in this home. We met neighbors who have welcomed, loved, and supported us through our journey. I "found" our children on the internet while sitting at my kitchen table. We became a forever family here.

When we faced difficult times, I struggled with anger, sadness, and impatience. In this house, I was able to see all the pieces of my brokenness come back together. Just as there are holes and scuffs on the walls of this home that can be filled to blend in, I have been filled. The walls will never be the same as they were when they were first built, but they can be made whole again, ready for the next family to make their marks. In that same way, we can never undo the scars from our life experiences, but we can be healed leaving us ready for our next season.

This move serves as a great metaphor for life. 

Moving

We started packing for our big move next month. I was impressed at how good the kids were at packing! In one day we did all of our books and movies, took everything off the walls, and sorted all of their clothes and stuffed animals. They were REALLY good helpers! After we ran out of tape, we lost momentum.

Today the kids are off an an adventure with their grandparents, so now I sit here overwhelmed by everything I have do complete:

• The rest of the packing 
• My grad school assignments
• 4 loads of laundry
• Vacuuming (again) 
• Cleaning the kitchen
• Writing one IEP and 6 transition plans 
• Preparing for a baby shower for a friend next Saturday 
• Packing the kids for their vacation 
• Shopping

I want to make some breakfast bierocks, bake brownies with my daughter, and take a bath…but I would have to clean the tub and kitchen first. I did just enough packing yesterday, leaving the house just disassembled enough to look messy but not packed up enough to feel accomplished. 

I plan on catching up on Once Upon A Time, drinking a Dr. Pepper, and then cleaning the tub so I can take a bath. After that, I am sure I will feel more motivated. 

PTSD and Vacation

I am not an expert in trauma or PTSD. In fact, I really only started caring about it last spring when I discovered the depth of 6-year-old's trauma during a birthday party . We have been pretty 'incident free" since then. Yes, trauma affects my child's behaviors and thought processes, but we haven't had any major incidents since last June…until yesterday.

Spring break is here, and my in-laws offered to take my kiddos for for four days so I could pack the house for our upcoming move to the big house. The kids would get to see their uncle and have some special experiences with the in-laws while I pack the house and take care of some appointments that are difficult to schedule when I am working. Knowing the kids get nervous about "new things," we explained that they would be on vacation with the grandparents for four days, and then return home. Immediately my oldest said he didn't want to leave me because I might be lonely, and I shouldn't have to pack everything myself. This was a warning sign that I didn't pick up on.

Flash forward to yesterday. At lunch time, my phone had several messages on it from school and my husband. My son had an earache and needed to come home. My husband would pick him up and take him to work with him. Upon pickup, my son lost it. He sobbed and screamed, unable to explain the problem. His "earache" turned out to be a bleeding ear from him scratching it raw. My husband is very calm and patient, and he was able to get my son calmed down. They called me, and I asked some questions, discovering that he was very concerned about going away. In his mind, he was moving to his grandparents' house, and would no longer have any parents. He began hyperventilating and sobbing again, so my husband brought him home and called me again. I decided that, although my son wasn't sick, he really was sick. I went home for the day.

By the time I arrived home, my husband and son were settled nicely. He was ready to eat lunch and play. We decided he needed to go back to school….and he needed to stay with us. So, I did what any mother of a child with PTSD would do; I called the school to see if I could stay there the rest of the day with him. They made a nice table in the hallway for me to do work while he returned to his first-grade classroom. About every 15 minutes, he found a reason to come out and check in with me. This continued for three hours. I started to feel a bit paranoid, surely all of the paras and teachers thought I was overprotective and a bit crazy.

The day ended without incident, and my children and I got into our car to head home. I always drive with the windows down when we leave school so that I can hear what is going on around me in addition to looking out for little ones running around. As we got to the crosswalk, a teacher approached my window and said, "You are a wonderful mother." I was quite surprised and stammered something like, "I…I just felt he needed me here today." She nodded her head and repeated, "You are a wonderful mother." At that moment, I realized that my paranoia and worry about what others think will never keep me from supporting and comforting my son. Even if other people think PTSD is an excuse, I know that I am doing what is best.

Will he decide to go on vacation or to stay home with me? I don't know, but I am okay with whatever he decides.

Dance Pictures

I knew it was going to be a stressful experience for my daughter. I had prepared her for the posing and the photographer, but I didn't know exactly what things would be like since I hadn't brought a child to take dance pictures before. When we arrived, she immediately started getting upset. We had to walk past a handful of strangers and then into a room where 15 or so teenagers were changing their costumes. My daughter changed into her costume and moved closer and closer to me as her anxiety grew. She wouldn't speak to her friends or their moms. When it was time for pictures, I had to walk her down the stairs, and attempted to pry her off my leg. She wouldn't budge. The mom that was in charge of pictures asked the dance teacher if I should come in with my daughter. Maybe she would make it okay if I was in the room with her, right?

As each of the cherubs took their pictures in their charming Belle tutus, tears silently rolled down my daughter's cheeks. With each advance toward the photographer, her tears increased in size and frequency. Finally it was her turn. The photographer could tell she was upset, so he asked me to walk her to her position. The dance teacher peeled her off of my leg, and I backed up next to the photographer. I watched my daughter turn into her teacher's arms and heard her begin to cry. They made funny faces; I waved; everyone tried to get her to relax and take a picture. After what seemed like forever, I had to remove myself because I beginning to cry as well. I felt embarrassed, saddened, and worried. Then I realized that making my daughter stand in front of a room full of people, terrified and sobbing, was a ridiculous idea. I walked to the photographer and announced that it was enough. We were finished. I held my daughter and comforted her, my five-year-old going on fourteen who had come so far since last year.

We watched as her class took some great pictures together, and I hoped that she realized photographers don't hurt people. I knew we still had to make our way back to the changing area, passing many people, and I wished that I had brought all of her stuff with me when we went to take the pictures. Just as it was time to leave, her teacher approached me. I apologized for the meltdown and reminded her that my daughter's anxiety might just prevent her participation in the recital next month. The teacher's face morphed into a look of pity, and then she quietly proceeded to inform me that I was the problem. My daughter would be fine if I hadn't worried about it. I was shocked. I numbly got my daughter changed and started driving home.

By the time I reached my home, my shock had turned to anger. I realize I have the tendency to be overprotective of my children, but my daughter was truly terrified. Her previous life experiences included trauma that leads to anxiety in new situations or places in which there are lots of people. This situation was both of those things. I did not create my daughter's trauma, and I certainly don't perpetuate it. In fact, my husband and I have worked very hard to help her come out of her shell and make great progress. Besides making me feel ashamed for my parenting skills and the behavior of my daughter, her teacher demonstrated to me just how uninformed people are about the realities of how trauma affects children's brains. My daughter was not embarrassed or shy or something like that; she was terrified. Her teacher knows my daughter's background, but she doesn't understand the implications. As much as I would like to think we have settled into being a "normal" family, there are some things that will be unique to us and incomprehensible for people outside of this type of experience.

What did I learn from this experience? I need to trust my instincts. Once it is clear my daughter is not ready for something, I need to be her advocate. I wouldn't make a child who suffers from PTSD because of a near-drowning experience swim in the deep end unaided; why would I expect a child who suffered trauma and is fearful of strangers to enjoy smiling in front of 30 people? Next time, I will be prepared to push my child to try new things but never to push until she breaks. She cried for one and a half hours that day, and it was 100% preventable.

Intervention Manual

I know I am not the first or the last parent to wish that their children came with a manual. This manual would have two main sections: Section 1: Health and Wellness; Section 2: Behavior & Discipline. I would pay big bucks for Section 2!

A few years ago, with the advent of RTI (Response to Intervention) rolling into schools, our school obtained a wonderful RTI Behavior Intervention Manual. It covered a wide array of problem behaviors such as cheating, fighting, and work avoidance. The behaviors were listed alphabetically for easy access, each behavior description included a list of possible motivations for that behavior as well as several interventions to try. For example:

Cheating

Possible Motivation: 

• lack of knowledge/skill
• did not complete work
• work avoidance
• worried about getting good grades 

Interventions: 

• test student's knowledge/skill level
• student conference to help determine motivation
• teacher or peer tutoring in the knowledge or skill area
• peer mentoring
• counseling sessions to work on testing anxiety

This isn't a great example, but it shows the general idea. 

I wish there was an intervention manual for parents. Not a book with theories or large programs. Just a manual, listed by topic. When one of your children displays a problem behavior like biting, using inappropriate language, or throwing food at the table, there would be a list of interventions to try. Not all consequences or strategies make sense for each behavior, so this would give parents some related, instructional interventions to help eliminate the behavior in the future. 

Who wouldn't love that? 

What a difference a year makes! …or 15 months

I started this entry before the New Year…clearly I have been distracted!

At this time last year, I had just returned to work after my adoption leave. My youngest child was wearing 18 month/2T clothing at the age of 3, he didn't know his colors, couldn't use a spoon, and fell over every few steps. My daughter was covered in rashes and scabs from her anxiety and eczema, and she wouldn't go anywhere in public without being held (even though she was 4 1/2). My oldest son couldn't read and was the lowest kindergartener in his class. Throughout these 15 months, we have struggled with behavior, schedules, disabilities, health concerns, febrile seizes, and more, but we survived! 

Fast forward to March 2014. We are a "normal" family (most of the time). We have good days and bad days. There are temper tantrums, potty accidents, and sibling rivalry. There are cuddles, healthy children, and countless happy memories. Sometimes I feel so frustrated that I have to take a time out. Sometimes I feel so distracted that I leave two faucets running while I start putting away laundry with my toothbrush in my mouth. Sometimes I laugh so hard that I hurt and feel so much joy that I cry. 

Yes, my kids still have obstacles to overcome from their biology and the trauma they experienced before arriving, but we are doing very well. 

What a difference a year makes!