The New Year

As many of my friends were ringing in 2016 either cuddling in bed or out partying it up, I rang in the new year alone. My husband was rocking our 8-year old. The night had gone well until we did he countdown (early, courtesy of Netflix). We took a selfie and then he snapped. He pushed his brother to the ground and slapped his face. It was downhill from there. Lots of, "I hate you!" Followed by, "I love you, will you cuddle with me?" There was even a, "I am going to kill you tomorrow" thrown in for good measure. So you might assume my New Year's Eve wasn't enjoyable. Actually, I really had a great time. Prior to the meltdown, we enjoyed Jenga, Boggle Jr, and even Disney Princess Yatzee. We had popcorn and a movie, and there were lots of laughs. It was a really fun night. 

So what happened? Although we can't be for sure, I think it was a combination of too much excitement (in other words, out of routine) and remembering the family that he has lost. You know that bittersweet feeling you get when you remember someone who passed away? For years after I lost my grandfather, I would pick up the phone to tell him something and then remember he wasn't there. The hurt would be raw and unsettling. Now I can look at things he made with fondness, but there will always be a small sting when I realize I won't get to learn anymore about woodworking or get a lecture about how many kilowatts of energy I waste when I leave my nightlight on during the daytime. A few years after Grandpa passed away, Grandma got a boyfriend. I didn't like him. I didn't choose him. He felt like an impostor, sitting in my grandfather's chair and taking his boat out on the lake. His laugh was wrong, and he didn't know anything about me. 

Here I am parenting a child who surely has very similar feelings about his birth parents, foster parents, and adoptive parents. I am not like his birth mom. Although he might love me and enjoy me more than I enjoyed my grandma's boyfriend, I am not the same. There is a hurt beneath his love for me. Maybe deep down he remembers Christmas with his birth parents. We surely don't celebrate the same. Since his parents were both from Mexico, there might have been bunuelos and tamales instead of lefse and German chocolates. Neither is better than the other (okay, tamales are the best thing in the world), but they aren't the same. There is something "off" about the holiday. Maybe it still feels like an impostor. 

I know he doesn't mean he hates me and wants to kill me. In fact, I know he truly loves me and wants to make sure I will love him forever. Instead of being angry and disappointed with how I rang in the new year, I feel content. I know that we are doing what we need to do to help him heal. I know we all love each other, even through our struggles. I know 2016 will continue to show even more growth and healing with our kids, even if there are days when they hurt.