Conversation of the day in Hawaii—a new one

Scene:  At the pool watching K swim.  Many of the older folks saying, “Honey that’s the little boy I was telling you about!”  My mom (K’s swim teacher) smiling proudly!  K yelling, “Mommy, look at me!”

Old Guy Sun tanning (OGST):  Wow!  He’s good!  My wife was here the other day and told me about him, but wow!  To see him for myself—he’s quite the swimmer!

Me:  Thanks!  I appreciate that!

OGST:  Is he African?

Me:  He was born in Ethiopia.

OGST:  I could tell because of how black he is!

Me:  Um…

(Before I could add anything else) OGST:  He your foster kid?  An exchange student or something?

Me:  No.  He is my son!  We have been a family for…

(Cutting me off) OGST:  Praise God.  It’s nice to see people like you gettin’ kids from a country with so many problems.

Me:  Well, Ethiopia is an amazing country with beautiful people and a wonderful culture.  I am blessed to have him as my son and have his birth country be Ethiopia.

OGST:  No, I meant Africa.  Africa has THE AIDS and stuff like that.

ME:  Sir, Africa is a continent—not a country.  And Africa has over 50…

(Cutting me off) OGST:  Well whatever.  Look at him go!

*I just swam to the other end of the pool and kept K with me.

Nat Geo in the AM

Me: “whatcha doin’ back there?”

K: “Just reading my Nat Geo (for kids) wif my tongs!”

He loves him some Disneyland and I love me some him!

Underfoot!

As you know, K and I have been a home, as a family, for 17 months.  By all accounts we have attached REALLY well.  My social worker has been “beyond pleased” with how we have attached to one another, he shows most of the signs for healthy attachment and my close circle of friends are amazed at how “well” he’s been doing.

But for the past 2 weeks, he has been almost physically attached to me when we are together.  He does fine when I drop him off at school.  He does fine when I leave him with my parents.  He does fine when I leave him with his Auntie.  However, when we are home, by ourselves, he is absolutely connected to me.  He won’t watch a TV show without me sitting with him.  And even then, he has to be sitting on me.  If I get up to go to the bathroom or to the kitchen, all it takes is around 10 seconds and he is right there asking, “Where did you go!  I was looking for you!”  

The other day, I was in the garage doing laundry and I couldn’t hear him calling me until he was in a complete meltdown screaming for me.  I run in to see if he is hurt and he is a blubbering mess asking me where I went!  He kept saying, “I was looking for you and I couldn’t find you!!!”  I know that this is still part of some abandonment issues that he’s working out (heck, let’s face it, most of us have abandonment issues and we weren’t, at one time, orphans!).  I also know that this is when I should have the most patience with him… but, sometimes, it drives me crazy and annoys the HECK outta me!!!  *Did I mention that it irritates me?

I would LOVE to be able to go to the bathroom without him coming in and sitting at my feet waiting for me.  I would love to be able to return a phone call in the evening without him coming in crying, saying, “I thought you left!”  I would love to cook dinner for us without him following me around the kitchen with his black stool (that I always trip over at least 5 times).  It’s usually at that point that I get (beyond) frustrated with him… but it isn’t his fault and I know it!  I know that this is the time when I need to exercise my patience even more with him.  And 92% of the time, I do… *Still doesn’t mean that I don’t get angry that other 8% of the time!!!

Yet, I love him and this is who he is.  I love every aspect of this amazing person whom I call my son!  I adore that he is loving.  I appreciate his love for life.  I, not only love him, I really like who he is.  So…I will continue to repeat that “Mommy ALWAYS comes back for K” and reassure him that I am not going anywhere.  And continue to repeat, “Mommy loves you FOREVER!”

Compassion Anyone?

“Everybody is God’s Somebody!”

I am the first person to admit that I am not always as compassionate as I could be.  I am sassy and sarcastic.  I am snarky and (sometimes) an elitist.  I generously admit it.  Yet, even having said that, I am passionate (get passionate post link) about a few things and helping people in need is one of them! 

Compassion literally means to suffer with.  So, when Jesus was “moved with compassion” for His people, he literally suffered with them.  And ultimately for them.  But this isn’t about Jesus nor is it really about me (well that isn’t totally true).  I recently met a couple who are homeless.  I have seen them around the area where I work, and the “wife” is always reading a book.  Now this may not strike you as odd or out of the ordinary, but every time I have seen her, she’s had a different book (*please remember that I am an English professor, I notice when people are actually reading)!

Now when I say homeless—some people automatically assume alcohol, drugs, mental illness… but as we may be learning through this financial downturn—that isn’t always the case anymore!!!

Not only that, I see them “carrying” all their belongings around town and my nosey-ness got the best of me.  I finally decided to ask them if they wanted some food.  I am always hesitant to just offer, out of the blue, simply because it has backfired on me before where a woman got belligerent with me and said, “I don’t want food Bi#$%!  I want money!”  However, since I had seen them a lot lately, I decided to introduce myself.  After making initial “Hi my name is…” I found out that her name is Anne and his is name Richard. 
I asked them if I could buy them a meal.  Anne was hesitant to respond, so I pressed, “No really, can I buy you two some food?”  And then things happened swiftly—with food in hand, the conversation started.  Now, K and I feed the homeless guys who roam the park near our house on a regular basis, but as stated previously, my fortune for helping the random person hasn’t always worked out so well for me.  But this was different.  This couple, once they warmed up to me, was amazing and in love with each other and caring and completely open about their situation. 

While I would love to share the whole encounter with you, I want to keep most of it for my own memory bank.  These people taught me so many things in our moments together.  I learned more about love and loyalty.  I was slapped in the face with a real life example of what not being able to find a job (resumes in hand and really looking) has done to family units.  I learned about laughing at situations—because if you don’t, you will cry all the time.  And finally, I learned about hope—because “if you lose hope that tomorrow will be better—you don’t have anything to look forward to!”

High Five for Friday—week of 07.22.11

*It is my goal that even when I kvetch, I still have an attitude of gratitude, so each Friday, I want to share at least 5 fantastical things that have happened to me!

PS—these aren’t in any particular order!

1.  Hanging with friends and boyfriend at the same time!

2.  Working out 5 days this week when 4 days was my goal!

3.  A vendor friend going to Barcelona and offering to pick up a purse I have been wanting that you can ONLY purchase in Spain!!!!!

4.  K telling me he loves me “this” much (arms spread really really really wide!).

5.  49 days until Hawaii!

Terrific Tuesday

Paramedic Crack Up!

Scene:  Driving home from church at a stop light, next to an ambulance.  I roll K’s window down because he LOVES anything with a siren and lights!

K:  Hi there!  Is that your ambalamps?

Ambulance Driver (AD):  Yes it is!  How are you buddy?

K:  I’m fine!  Can I drive your ambalamps right now?

AD:  Not today buddy.  Is that your Mommy?

K:  Yeah!  She doesn’t have a husband.

AD:  Oh, is that right?  (Looking at me then back to him)  Does she want one? (looking back at me!)

*Thankfully the light turned green and I sped off, with my son yelling, “Bye! See you later!”

The Negotiator

Scene:

6 AM on a Friday morning.

K:  Mommy, can I go outside and play?

Me ( half asleep):  Sure baby!  (K silently walks downstairs.  I can hear him open the back door to play in the back yard. I get up, open the slider up here, so I can hear him and get in the shower.  Fast forward 35 minutes).  Baby, it’s time to come up and get dressed for school.

K:  Mommy, can I bring my train wiff me?

Me:  How about 1 train car.

K:  How about 4?

Me:  How about 2?

K:  How about 3?

Me:  How about 2?

K:  Mommy, how about 2! 

(He comes upstairs and is completely naked!)  *Good thing it’s summer time!

Lingo of the K—Part Tres

Pack Pack (back pack—he knows how to say Back pack, but doesn’t like it.  Could also be an ice pack)

Hot Dog (Goofy from Disneyland)

Motor man (anyone riding a motor bike/motorcycle)

Oc-puss (octopus)

Uncle Rasper (Uncle Jasper)

Tofu-pole (telephone pole)

Miss O-Wanda (Miss Yolanda)

Squito (Mosquito)

Hippo-Waterus (I bet you can guess what this is)

Linleyland Waffle (Churros that ONLY from Disneyland)

My taco (the sponge for my foundation)

Train Truck (the Metro-link trucks that rides on the tracks)

Scorpy (scorpion)

Spider Rab (spider web)

Stink ray (sting ray)

My Pragmatic Learner

Picture this:  In line at Disneyland, waiting, not so patiently, to get on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.  I have told K probably no less than 4 times, ‘Please don’t stick your head in between those bars!  You could get hurt.  And Mommy doesn’t want you to get hurt, right?”  And what does he do?  Pushes his head ALL THE WAY through and gets stuck in the railing/fence.  Happy Friggin’ Mother’s Day! 

Now he is screaming bloody murder because his head won’t come out.  My mom and dad are trying to help me help him but he has the strength of an ox at this point.  His head is REALLY stuck.  There are screams of major proportion happening at our point in line and to add insult to injury, the line has significantly moved, so it is us who are holding up others from getting on the ride.  Initially, I try to use my calm, “Baby, calm down. Mommy is here” voice.  It’s not working and he seems to getting more nervous/scared.  So I transition to my, “K, stop it and calm down” irritated/in trouble voice.

How is it that his head can go in but can’t come out?  I am trying to flatten his ears, push his skull together as if he was comin’ through the birth canal, but it won’t budge.  I lick my fingers and rub the sides of his head.  Nope—no progress.  Finally, I see the scornful/scared/unapproving eyes of other parents in line.  It’s clear that I am not living up to their parenting standards and I do only what I can to resolve this situation and blend back into the abyss of people at Disneyland.  I quickly turn his torso to the side and push his whole body through the fence.  Thank ya Jesus that his body is smaller than his head.  I reach over and pick up his whimpering body on the other side of the railing and carry him inside the ride. 

But again, I fail in the category of “Mom of the Year” because I don’t comfort him and tell him he’s gonna be ok.  I ask him if he’s ok and when he nods, I scold him for not listening and tell him, “Stop crying!  You did this to yourself because you didn’t listen!”  I know I’m in trouble when the man in front of us reaches into his Disneyland bag and hands K a “collectors” Disneyland baseball, offering words of encouragement and sympathy to K (clearly for K being stuck with the wicked witch of the west as a mother).

Sadly, K’s a pragmatic learner.  And fortunately, he hasn’t done it again! Lesson learned.

Tubular Tuesday

Public Discipline

It’s no secret, K is from Ethiopia.  As many of you know, I taught myself a bit of Amharic so that I would be able to communicate with him when I brought him home.  I knew that he would be verbal when I traveled and I wanted him to have “something” from his homeland (since I had basically taken him away from everything he had ever known within 5 days of meeting me).  I wanted him to know that I respected him as a person and that I love Ethiopia, its culture, and people as much as I love him. 

But now, he refuses to speak it.  He understands Amharic and will respond in English, but won’t use any words except, “I love you!”  Even having said that, I use it A LOT.  Granted, I am not fluent, nor do I claim to be, but I have about 50 phrases that I still use regularly with him.  Most of them are terms of endearment or punishment…  The other day, I was at a supermarket that I don’t usually go to when I had to scold him.  In public, I choose to discipline him in Amharic so I don’t have to look at the faces of all the mom’s questioning my parenting skills, and they do…  Ironically enough, after scolding him in Amharic, I hear a cart in the next aisle almost racing down the row, and from around the corner comes an Ethiopian woman who simply says, “I wasn’t expecting you to be white!”  All I could do was laugh and say (clearly not how these words are spelled, but phonetics work for me), “Selam! Ah-te-free!  Sih May, Char” and then K chimed in with, “I’m K!”  We only shared a quick moment, but what a beautiful moment it was. As she left, she said something to him in Amharic, kissed his forehead and the tops of both of his hands, as did so many lovely people on the streets of Addis Ababa.  It blessed me. 

Should Single Women Adopt?

I get this question A LOT!  As most of you know, I would label myself a Christian.  Not a hate filled, elitist, Bible in your face and “you are wrong” kind of Christian, but a believer in a God of Love.  I love the God of miracles. I love my God who is a Creator.  I am a worshipper of the Most High God who doesn’t hate people.  He’s a God who hung out with the “whores”, tax collectors, thieves, adulterers, and the outcasts of society!  Now that’s my kind of God.  He’s so my kind of people. 

So…am I wrong for not “waiting” for Mr. Right to build my family unit?  I have been told that I am by a few “well meaning” people.  And to that I say: suck it!  I read this blog by an adoptive mom on this subject and what she has to say is pretty awesome:

You can wait for that perfect man and waste valuable years that could have been spent raising precious little ones in desperate need of a mommy. Two parent homes are thought by many to be ideal, but really….who says that has to be? Ever asked an orphan?  ‘Ummmmm, excuse me. I am single. I want to be a mommy……but I am waiting for a daddy…so in the meantime you sit there and enjoy that orphanage….cause I’m sure you’d rather be one of 400 kids….with no one to kiss your boo-boos or listen to your dreams while I sit over here waiting for Mr. Right.’ Yeah, I don’t think so.  There are kids all over this world who are longing for someone to say, ‘You are mine and we’re in this together. We may not have a daddy at the moment (or maybe ever), but I will be your mommy’…. I applaud the courage of some of my friends who have said, ‘I am not married, but I can be a great mom and I’m not waiting for a husband to do that.’”

When I made the decision to adopt K, I knew the “risks” I was taking.  I knew what I was getting into.  I knew I’d be doing it alone.  I knew that some people wouldn’t understand why I was doing it.  I knew that I’d lose friends over it.  I knew that people would judge me.  I knew all these things and you know what?  I didn’t care!  I have multiple tattoos and multiple piercings, so I have been judged before and I am cool with it!  I also knew what I would gain from it.  And the pros completely out weigh the “cons”. 

Would I love to be married?  Of course.  Would I love to have a partner who could “tag” me out of the ring every once in a while—HECK TO THE YES! Would I love for my son to have a daddy?  Most certainly!  Will I settle for just anyone?  C’mon now, you know me better than that!

If you are a parent who has a partner, don’t judge me, help me!  Love my kid because he’s awesome and strong and a survivor and funny and just pretty darn cool.  If you know how difficult it can be to deal with a 3 year old (or any kid at any age), offer to babysit for me.  If you have kids and you know how expensive it can be—quit reminding me y’all.  Don’t keep saying, “I don’t know how you can afford it on a single income?!”  Offer to buy him some clothes, buy us some groceries or pay my childcare for a week (or a month)! Geesh! 

Be a problem solver not a problem pointer-outter, please.  That’s what I did when I made the choice to adopt!  143 million orphans—minus one!