one step back

Today went well.

I cleaned -- because it had to be done.  She colored.  Started a journal for her summer vacation (which I was going to suggest but she thought up all on her own).  She watched a little TV.  She played dress up.  She was cooperative with photos.

Then we headed out to Target to get a few things she needed for summer camp.  She was sure she had everything she needed.  I was not so sure.  I asked her to just trust me.  She shut up but I could see the doubt written all over her face.  When we arrived I asked her to work with me in the store.  We were there to get things for her -- please cooperate.  And she did.  For the most part.  She got pissy with me when I told her we would not be going to the pool today (she lost that yesterday when she would not listen to me at the pool).  But she got over it.

The we headed out to go grocery shopping.  She danced every where -- typical.  She wanted anything that is junk food -- typical.  She wanted to go stare at the cakes -- typical.  She sang along with the radio playing on the loud speaker -- then got stuck on a song -- annoying.  But overall it was one of our best food shopping trips in a long while.

We were driving home.  We were almost home.  When this conversation happened:

Ladybug: You know Mom, I don't really care about you. (said deadpan and serious)
Mama: (ignore -- do not engage)
Ladybug: Mom, I don't love you.
Mama: (keep ignoring -- do not engage)
Ladybug: I just want you to know that I do not care for you.
Mama: How do you want me to react to that?
Ladybug: I don't care if you react.
Mama: So what should I say?
Ladybug: I don't care.
Mama: (by this time we have arrive home) Well I am going to put the food away and I think maybe you need to think about what you are hoping for by saying that.

She sits down at the kitchen table as I put away the food.  When I am almost done, I continue the conversation.

Mama: So have you thought about it?
Ladybug: What?
Mama: What were you hoping for when you said that?
Ladybug: It was an accident.  I didn't mean to say it.
Mama: You can not accidentally say something 3 times.  You said it.  You meant it.  It was not an accident.
Ladybug: If that is what you want to believe.
Mama: Go to bed.

I didn't care that it was only 6pm.  I didn't care that she hadn't had dinner.  She didn't fight it.  She just went.  And stayed.  It is nearly 4 hours later.  She is asleep.  I have a feeling she was asleep soon after she got to her room.

It makes me scared for tomorrow.  She starts summer camp tomorrow.  She might blow out.  But the other 2 women in my office are on vacation all week.  I have no ability to leave the office during the day.  I must stay in the office.  I hope she doesn't blow out.  Please don't let her blow out. 

I guess that depends how I handle the morning.

Mean Mama

braids or locs

I finished her micro braids yesterday.  I didn't actually do much during the week.  There is just not enough time in the day to work and do braids.  But she was beginning to look a little funny.  She had 10 of the 12 sections done and the other 2 sections were in bantu knots.  Which made her look like she had 2 horns growing out of the front of her head.  Not at all attractive but she didn't seem to care.

So here is the final product.

The good news is that she loves it.  The bad news is that she has not bought into the idea of locs.  And she forgets all previous conversations about it so we start from scratch.  I am not at all excited about the idea of taking out all of these braids in 4-6 weeks.  And the final question appears to be -- will her hair actually loc.  I am having my doubts.

Mean Mama

Twins!

My new babies.  They are not identical...more like mirror images of each other.  See for yourself.

In anticipation of running a marathon, I have started walking.  Baby steps.  So I walked for a few days.  I got up early (which we all know I hate doing) and went for a walk.  Ladybug goes with me too.  The first few days were hard for her.  I told her she is Ethiopian and therefore born to run.  She got on board after a few days.  I mapped out a 1 mile route.

The problem is -- after a few days I developed shin splints.  In both legs.  As a former  runner (and wanna be runner) I recognized it.  So I decided if I was going to be serious about this I needed the right shoes.  The wrong shoes can destroy your feet and legs and hips.  And for me, who already has an old foot injury and knee injury, I really need the right shoes.  And since my current pair of sneakers is old they are beginning to break down.  Shoes have a shelf life -- who knew?

So I went to a special shoe store.  All the sales people are specially trained.  They make you walk.  They make you stand on one foot.  They watch your feet and legs.  They diagnose your walk.  And then recommend the right shoes for you. This is a vast improvement to how I did it when I was a runner.  I would buy the runner's magazine the reviewed the new shoes and read every word.  I would study my feet and walk -- and I have no knowledge in anatomy or physiology.  Then I would go to the store and try on every good possibility.  It would take hours.  I would try one and run around the store.  The try the next one and run around the store. Over and over.  And then as a narrowed them down I would try them over and over.  Until I could tell which one I loved and which ones I did not.  It took hours.  And I am sure it drove the sales person insane.  But this place does all of that for me.  After a 5 minute review of my feet and legs he pulled out 3 shoes that deal with my issues -- I over pronate and I have high arches. 

I tried on the first pair -- Brooks.  They felt good.  The toe box seemed really roomy to me.  Almost too roomy.  I guess I like a snugger feel then they provided.  Then I tried on pair number 2 -- Saucony.  I felt nothing wrong about them.  They felt snug without cramped.  The arch hit me right.  This might be the one but I needed to try number 3 -- Asic.  The moment I tried them on I knew the were not the right ones.  The heel was wrong, the arch was wrong, nothing felt good about them.  And it the end the Sacony won.

I was happy.  But my shin splints were too severe to be resolved by just a new pair of shoes.  I am on huge amounts of anti-inflammatory and I have stopped walking.  In 7-10 days I should be able to try again.

Mean Mama

Cooking

I seem to have finally managed to rid my place of ants.  No matter what I did the little buggers would just keep marching in.  I became a mass murderer and they still had no fear.  So I finally bought ant death traps and that seems to have solved the problem.  CELEBRATE!

Only problem is the roaches have come home.  Can I have the ants back?

I have killed a few.  I am always amazed that when I start spraying them with the killer death spray that they first start running toward me.  Attack of the killer roaches.  But they do die.  But one little bugger has eluded me.  If I see him upstairs then my spray is downstairs and by the time I get it he has disappeared.  If I see him downstairs then my spray is upstairs and by the time I get it he has disappeared.  The easy solution would be to have 2 cans.  Apparently I don't like easy solutions.  And I have no idea if it is the same roach or many roaches but I feel better thinking that there is only one haunting my house -- so I let myself believe it.  So we have done this dance for a few weeks now.

Yesterday morning I came down in the morning and threw the tea kettle on the stove to make my tea.  I then proceeded to do some other things around the kitchen.  Have I mentioned that I am not a morning person?  I am not.  So everything I do is out of habit.  I do not look, think, or pay attention to anything in the mornings.  And apparently that was true yesterday.  As I was putzing around the kitchen I began to smell something burning.  I look over at the stove and see a small stream of smoke coming from under my tea kettle.  I try to remember if I spilled something the night before but I can think of nothing (mornings).  So I lift the tea kettle and look.  The stream of smoke continues to rise. So I look closer.

Apparently the little bugger had tried to crawl between the coils of my electric stove burners and gotten stuck.  I didn't notice him -- as I am sure my eyes were not opened yet -- and proceeded to fry him.  He was blackened by the time I figured this out.

Fried cock roach for breakfast, anyone?

Mean Mama

One last school rant

... at least until next fall.

I don't understand the school system of rewards.  Luckily Ladybug seems to understand it.  It escapes me.  They have a system of "compliments."  Not that it has been explained to me in a way that I understand.   My understanding is that the kids can earn compliments.  How?  No idea.  What does it mean to have a compliment?  No idea.

Of course, Ladybug has a hard time earning them.  Let's face it, if she gets through the day without beating the crap out of a classmate I am proud.  Avoid the bad and I am happy.  Doing something good?  Well that is a bonus but not expected and not earned often.  So I was not surprised that she has not earned a lot of compliments.

What do you use the compliments for?  No real idea there either.  Really, I am an involved parent.  When we get home from school/work the first thing we do is homework.  We go through everything she has brought home in her backpack.  We do homework.  We study for spelling tests.  We go over her behavioral contract.  We talk about the "special" class of the day.  I ask what she had for lunch.  I find out what happened at recess.  I am involved.  Apparently I am also clueless -- at least about this compliment thing.

So the rant...

Ladybug came home one day this week and announced that her class had a special treat that day.  They had a magician come in to the 4 kindergarten classes and do a performance.  I was excited.  I bet she would have enjoyed it.  WOULD HAVE.  Because in the next breath she told me she was not allowed to go.  Why?  Because she didn't earn enough compliments.  Of the nearly 100 kindergarteners in the school 4 kids were not allowed to attend the special show.  She was one of them. 

Really?  You have a special performer coming to class and you exclude kids?  Oh and keep in mind that Ladybug was having a great day.  Perfect contract.  Compliments are earned and lost.  So the fact that she was too low in compliments meant to she missed out on a performance -- despite the fact that she was having a good day that day.  So she stayed behind in the classroom.  Colored. Worked on the computer. Read. Played a game with the other 3 kids who missed out.

Luckily she was okay with it.  And I tried to hide my outrage -- with her. 

Mean Mama

One of those days

I am having one of those days.  I am annoyed.  I woke up annoyed.  I have tried to change my attitude.  But nothing that has happened has helped.  And Ladybug has not helped at all.  I don't know how to deal with it.

She let me sleep.  But it was not a good sleep.  I woke up feeling exhausted and groggy.  She was raring to go. 

Pool
Pool!
POOL!

We can't go to the pool until we get a few things done.  And by few I mean 20.  I made a list.  Basic things like dishes, laundry, grocery shopping.  I want to get her to the pool but my list is looking impossible.

I asked her to clean up the living room.  I mean all the crap in it is hers.  She has hauled it down to the living room.  She can take it back.  She moans, she complains, she whines, and she finally takes it back upstairs.  And dumps it into her room.  At which point I ask her to clean her room, not surprising.  Well, actually apparently it was a surprise.  She cleans it.  Kind of.  She cleans it several times.

Then it is off to do some chores outside the house.  Trash.  Recycling. Library.  Grocery shopping.  We get in a fight before we even get in the car.  Well more like in the process of getting in the car.  She just keeps twisting her seat belt.  I get it latched and I start to pull out of the parking space and I look back.  That was the problem -- I shouldn't have looked back.  She is twisting it again.  Back in the parking space.  Out of the car.  Fix the seat belt.  And try again.

The trash is dumped off.  Over to recycling...which apparently isn't opened yet.  So I detour to the library.  We need to turn in books -- yesterday -- and get new ones.  It is closed.  Who knew?  Apparently we always went on Saturday.  So I leave the books in the drop and head back to recycling.  Where, apparently, everyone is in such a hurry to get in and out that they are willing to cause chaos.  Just let the person in front do their thing and wait your turn.  But no.  Annoyed!

Off to grocery shopping.  I pull into the lot -- still annoyed.  Ladybug is sleeping.  Maybe food will help.  I need food.  No, not McDonald's.  No, not Wendy's.  No, not Chinese.  We stop at our favorite pizza place.  She gets pizza.  I get a Greek salad.  My mood is improving.  Maybe we can do this.  We play a game with lunch (they have a lot of old picked through games but we find an almost complete deck of cards).

At the end of the meal -- before heading back to shopping -- she asks to go to the bathroom.  I don't understand her love of public bathrooms.  I don't normally let her go alone.  But I do this time.  There are only a few people in the place.  I can see the bathroom door from where I sit.  So I let her do.  I wait...and wait...and wait.  I clean up the table.  And I wait some more.  Seriously, what is she doing in there?  I am getting annoyed again.  Eventually I go check.  And I find her squirting soap all over the walls and wiping them down. 

Why?
Why?!
WHY?


I ask.  She has no answer.  Or more accurately, she refuses to answer.  Mute.  Which pisses me off.  We leave.  In a huff.  I am so not doing anything right, right now.  I am not a good mama of an attachment child.  I try improving the situation.  It is not working.  I don't have the right look.  Or the right posture.  Or the right tone.  So she doesn't respond in the right way.  It goes from bad to worse.  We didn't even make it out of the car at the grocery store. 

She is upstairs in her bed NOT taking a nap right now.  I am pissy and annoyed.  I need to get things done.  But I really just want to throw a fit.

Mean Mama

Ice Age 3

If you wanted to know anything about Ice Age 3 --- feel free to ask me.  I have watched it about 1 billion times since yesterday.  And that is only a slight exaggeration.  It arrived via Netflix yesterday.  We watched it 3 times yesterday.  And I think another 3 times today.  And yet she continues to ask questions about it each time we watch it.

So why are we watching Ice Age 3 so many times?  She refuses any other movie.  Oh, and we are doing hair.  Lots and lots of hair.  We started with this...

Well... kind of.  Last weekend during our all day swimming activity the bottom section of the braid came out and I just let it puff out.  Which of course made it very tangled by last night when we started the process. 


I have been struggling with what to do with her hair for the summer.  Her summer camp gives her an opportunity to swim every day.  In a pool.  That is a lot of chlorine.  She has a swim cap but I willing to bet that she will not wear it most days.  So I need something that will allow me to rinse her hair.  A lot.  And spray condition it.  A lot.

I have been struggling with what to do with her hair in general for about a year.  She asked for sisterlocks a year ago.  I seriously considered it.  I worried about the cost.  But I was serious enough about it that I went to see a consultant. The consultant suggestion that we not do it.  But hair has become a serious issue in our house.  She won't let me cut it.  She says cornrows hurts too much.  She screams when I comb it.  She hates having it washed. 

I struggle because... well... I am proud of my ability to do hair.  My hair takes 5 seconds.  Mostly because I do nothing with it.  I have spent a lot of time learning hair.  Washing.  Conditioning.  Beading.  Braiding.  Twisting.  Even though the process has not been a great thing lately.  If I did locks then there would be a significant drop in hair time.  Is that good or bad?  Maybe both.

So decided to install locks.  Braid locks.  And I started them last night.  It is simple.  Braids.  That I never take out.  So I used a gel that is extra mega hold.  And I made the braids small.  Really small.  Because since I am not taking them out I don't have to worry about how small they are. 

I divided her head into 12 sections.  We stuck in the movie.  And I started braiding.  I was excited.  I was happy.  I finished 2 sections (1/6 of the way done) when Ladybug had a meltdown.  She doesn't want locks.  She doesn't want them to be permanent.  She wants them to come out.  Really?  I don't even know if that is possible.  They are small. 

So I continued.  And after 6 viewings of Ice Age 3 I have 6 of the sections done.  Half way done.  Luckily the sections are not all equal in size so I may be more then half way done.

And this is what we have so far...

I will post pictures once they are all done.

Mean Mama

Going back to Ethiopia

I would love to go back to Ethiopia.  Anybody who knows me might find that statement strange.  When Ladybug was adopted I traveled to Ethiopia.  Only once.  Now parents are required to travel twice.  I spent 1 week there.  I was focused on my child.  I was there to be a mother.  And I think I missed something.  Maybe many somethings.

I flew 17 hours.  I hate to fly.  Seriously hate flying.  Which is why I drive 18 hours to visit my parents.  I don't understand how a big hunk of metal stays in the air.  And turbulence freaks me out.  But I didn't have a choice that time.  I couldn't exactly take a slow boat to Ethiopia.  So I flew.  And survived.  I went during the rainy season.  So I saw lots of mud.  And not the beauty of the country.

And my trip was not good.  I hear all these new adoptive families coming home and talking about the amazing wonderful trips they had.  I didn't have any of that.  I stayed at my agency guesthouse.  Before we went they asked about dietary restrictions.  I told them I don't each fish or seafood.  Which is all they served the first 3 days there.  Seriously, I can't not even pretend to choke down the stuff.  I was starving.  The mattress was about 1/2 thick.  I am not exaggerating.  And I am a spoiled American.  I love my bed.  And then there was the fact that my child was sick.  Ear infection, bronchitis, ring worm, scabies, lactose intolerant...am I missing anything?  And by the time we arrived home she had been kind of enough to share all of it with me -- except the lactose intolerance.  And then there was the grief.  She would sit on my lap and scream "Amaye" for hours.  She would scream if I passed her off to my mother -- so I could shower or pee.  She wanted to go to any Ethiopian male we ran across.  It was an exhausting trip.

So maybe because of it, I want to go back.  I want to experience Ethiopia in a way that I was unable to on the first trip.  Ii want Ladybug to go back.  And enjoy her birth country.  I want her to have some concrete memories -- and not just fantasies.  So I am thinking about it.  Maybe next summer.  If I can figure out how to pay for it.  Here is the option I am considering. 

Mean Mama

Unthinkable with unmentionables

Bedtime tonight was something I never could have dreamed up.

I sent her up to get into her pjs and brush her teeth.  She didn't want to.  She stalled.  But she went.

I followed.  And did what I shouldn't do -- I started picking up her room.  The mess bothers me and not her.

When she was done brushing her teeth she came into her bedroom and grabbed her pjs.  Then she looked at me and...

Ladybug: Can I change in the bathroom?
Mama: What?  Why? (did she all of a sudden get shy?)
Ladybug: I made a mess in my panties.
Mama: (do I want to know?)  What kind of mess?
Ladybug: You are going to get mad.
Mama: (sitting down)  I am only going to get mad if you don't tell me (I hope).
Ladybug: No you are going to be mad.
Mama: Just tell me how you made a mess.
Ladybug: Well, I took some M&M's out of the cabinet this morning and I hid them in my panties.

I can't make this stuff up.  I just hope she didn't eat them after they were hiding in her panties.  But I didn't dare ask.

Mean Mama

Unpopular opinion

Take the title seriously.  What I am about to write will define me as a bad mama -- not just a mean mama.  And specifically I am a bad adoptive mama.

Oh and one more warning... spoilers for Kung Fu Panda 2.  Do not read if you like being surprised by animated movies.

We went to King Fu Panda 2 this weekend.  Ladybug was looking forward to it.  We enjoyed the first one.  She wanted to see the second one.  For the record...we liked this one too.  She can't wait for 3 to come out.  And I do think there will be a 3 because of how the movie ends.

And somehow that makes me a bad mama.  At least in the adoption world.  My groups, boards, and list serves have exploded in outrage over this movie.  The implication is that the adoption language and ideas are so bad that no adoptive mom would take their child to this movie.  It will, after all, scar the child for life.

So what is so bad about the movie? 

Well, Po is a Panda.  Adopted by his dad who is a goose.  Only apparently he doesn't know he is adopted.  Really?  Panda...goose...panda...goose.  How did he miss it?  Trans species adoption.  There is a part in the movie when Tigress says something like, "You didn't know you were adopted??" dripping with sarcasm.  The implication is...how did he miss it?  I laughed.  And Ladybug looked at me with a quizzical look and said, "How did he not know he was adopted."  Duh!  Even my 6 year old understood he had to have been adopted. 

It reminded me of just before Ladybug came home and I was out to breakfast with friends.  One of my friends brought her daughter -- who was about 13 at the time.  The daughter looked at me and said, "Do plan on telling her that she is adopted?"  I paused and thought -- do not say something sarcastic, she is just a kid.  So I pulled myself together and said something more like, "Well, given the difference in our races I think it will be obvious but adoption will be an open topic in the house."  And then all of my friends laughed. 

And then there is the scene where his dad tells Po how he came to him.  Okay, he is not really adopted.  He showed up on the back stoop and the goose raised him.  Close enough to adoption.  The complaint I have heard from adoptive moms this week?  As the goose is telling the story of how he got Po, the goose is clearly uncomfortable and afraid.  And tender and caring.  The complaint?  How could the dad be ashamed to tell Po the story?  Really?  We are parents.  Not robots.  We get uncomfortable.  I got uncomfortable telling Ladybug about giving birth the other day.  Maybe the goose was not ashamed of the adoption story.  Maybe he was ashamed that he hadn't told the story sooner.  Maybe he was scared how his beloved child would react.  Maybe he was scared Po would leave him.  I saw no problem with this scene.

If you think you can handle any conversation with someone you love, try it.  Try explaining tampons to you kindergartener.  Try talking about oral sex with your grandmother.   Or maybe those things only happen in my life?

One more scene that has been criticized by several adoptive moms...the ending.  After all is said and done the movie ends (presumably as a lead to movie number 3), you see Po's biological father say, "My son is alive."  Throw up your arms in disgrace.  How dare a movie suggest that the fantasy that a birth parent is out there looking for the child they gave up.  Okay, first a spoiler.  Po was not given up for adoption.  He was lost.  There was no adoption plan.  This is a parent who would have raised his son, if given the chance.  So maybe it is realistic that a bio parent is searching for the child?  And guess what...welcome to reality...some bio parents do search for their bio children.

When Tangled came out (another story connected to adoption because Rapunzel is stolen from her parents and raised by a quasi-adoptive mom -- evil as she may be), I read all these bad adoptive mom reviews if we dared to take our children.  Now we have it again. 

Chill out.  Relax.  It is a kid's movie.

Remember that adoption is not THE thing that has happened to your child... it is ONE of the things that has happened in your child's life.  Adoption doesn't have to be serious - all the time.  I mean, it was a process that I took seriously.  But it doesn't have to be a heavy topic.  Lighten up.  I annoy my aunt when I say in one breath that it must be genetic when I do something similar to my adoptive mom and in the next breath I say that I am so glad I am adopted when she does something crazy.  My aunt says I can't have it both ways but that is one of the beautiful things about adoption -- I can have it both ways.  Sometimes when Ladybug is really silly I will say to her, "Where did you come from?"  And she will say with all the exasperation of a teenager, "Mom! You know.  Africa!" like she is really saying -- how many times do I have to tell her this before she remembers it.  Am I scarring my child?  Well...maybe.  I mean, she is in therapy for attachment issues.

Whatever!  It is a movie.  A kid's movie.  Lighten up!  Enjoy the movie.  Be happy.  And stop complaining about everything adoption if it is not said, done or portrayed in a perfect manner.

Just my opinion.

Mean Mama