Some Assembly Required

Topping many children’s Christmas lists this year will be a Nintendo Wii console, a digital camera, or perhaps an iPod. But, my kids won’t be getting any of those things. My husband selected their gift this year. They got it early because, well there was ample snow in the yard and Ron had the entire weekend to assemble their gift.

I don’t really like the winter. But, I guess we wouldn’t be able to do this if we lived in a warmer climate. The kids love, love, love their gift. And, they loved being able to spend the weekend with their dad. Marissa and I enjoyed shopping without them.

Do you want information on how to make your own igloo? Grand Shelters

Buyer’s Remorse

When I was young, an officer in the military and didn’t have kids, I had more money to spend. I wish I knew then what I know now. Our family of five lives on one income. We have surpassed the catastrophic deductible on our health insurance two-years in a row. I don’t have a lot of extra money anymore. I bought things that really no longer fit me or my lifestyle. I am stuck with them.

This line of thought started when I was climbing into bed. During that time, I purchased a queen-sized solid oak, raised four-poster bed. My kids are constantly hanging from the elaborately carved posts. If one ever breaks it would be impossible to replace. Okay, maybe it wouldn’t be  impossible to replace, just expensive. Impossible and expensive are synonymous in my vocabulary. But, I wasn’t thinking of the irreplaceable posts last night. The top of the upper mattress is more than 3-feet above the floor. I am only slightly over 5-feet tall. The top of the mattress falls near the top of my pelvis bone. I use a stool to get in and out. Last night the stool had gone missing. I am still capable of climbing up into the bed without the stool; it isn’t pretty. Middle of the night bathroom trips would be annoying. I hunted down the stool. In hindsight, I should have bought a less elaborate lower bed, perhaps, a king-size bed. I love my husband, but I sleep better at night lying on my side with my arm draped over a cuddle pillow. I can’t do this and stay on my side of the bed. I sleep much better when he is traveling.

Wishing I had bought a different bed led me to regret other purchases:

• I bought Franklin Mint’s Nativity by Gianni Benvenuti. At the time, the pieces cost over $100 each. I bought bought one piece every three months. It took me three years to purchase the entire set. The Melchior statue broke. Ron bought a replacement before we got married. That figurine, shipped in its original Styrofoam box, was the only thing that was broken in our move to Minnesota. His hand broke off. I glued it. For a couple of years, I put it out at Christmas on top of the bookshelf where cats and kids couldn’t get to it. Now, I don’t bother. The whole set stays up in the attic year round. Frankly, I could do without the Nativity. Lights representing the anointed Light of the World are enough for me.

• I bought an 8-piece serving set of Pfaltzgraff Heirloom dinnerware. The pattern was discontinued just months after I started collecting it. The plates were bulky and didn’t stack compactly. I have often lived in homes with inadequate kitchen storage. Bulky dishes took up precious kitchen geography. I broke several pieces of the pottery. I no longer have a complete set. When we moved to Minnesota, the local grocery store was giving away a place setting every time a shopper spent $125 in their store. I saved the punch cards and collected that set. It was free. Like the Pfalzgraff it is rather bulky. Also, its green and blue floral print doesn’t dress up well at a formal, holiday table. In hindsight, I wish I had bought a set of plain, white chip- and break-resistant Corelle.
• Finally, and most recently, I bought a big prelit Christmas tree. I am glad I bought it after Christmas and didn’t pay full price. It lasted a mere 3-Christmas seasons before the bottom row of lights stopped burning. It weighs a ton. It sits in the attic this year too. I bought a 6 foot tree that is only 42 inches in diameter. It cost $20. It was easy enough to assemble that Beverly and David were able to help me. David carried it in from the store. From box to up and decorated took less than 30 minutes. And, most importantly, I can still use my living room.

Do you have buyer’s remorse?

The Trouble With Santa

I have written before:

Santa Claus is treated as a character in a children’s book. He doesn’t visit our home. He doesn’t make a list. We do not sprinkle the snow with magic reindeer feed or leave cookies and milk out. Our children know that everything they have is a gift from God.

I wrote that before David and Beverly actually lived in our home.

There is one Santa that has meaning to me, but it is because it reminds me of  my father. I believe Santa Claus commercializes and trivializes Christmas. I didn’t want to invite him back into my home. But, where I live and worship, the dominant culture is awash with Santa Claus. Our friends and family will ask the kids what Santa is bringing them for Christmas. And, our children’s friends all believe that the gifts they get on Christmas morning come from an eternal, benevolent large elf that resides at the North Pole. Last year the kids hadn’t been in the United States long enough to know about America’s version of Santa. Things are different now. David and Beverly are absorbing the culture.

I struggled with what to do about Santa Claus. What I decided to do was to tell the children the legend of the historical St. Nicholas and put out shoes on St. Nicholas Day. I tried to emphasize that St. Nicholas gave gifts to people in need. Because God loved these people, St. Nicholas loved them in tangible ways too. I taught them that a gift from St. Nicholas was one given anonymously. And, I told them that, in the United States, it has become a custom to give gifts to people we know and love at this time of year too. Because, truthfully, my little one will be showered! Oh, and I warned them to let their friend’s parents decide how to explain Santa to them.

So, I guess, do we do Santa Claus? Yes, and no, and yes…

But, from David and Beverly’s perspective, we don’t. We were at the mall recently and stopped to have a sandwich and drink at a small restaurant. The waitress asked Beverly, “What is Santa going to bring you for Christmas?”

Beverly: “Uh, we don’t do Santa Claus,” Beverly said cautiously. I knew she was remembering my warning about not to tell her friends. She was hoping she could talk about Santa with an adult.

The waitress was confused by her answer. She sputtered, “Well, Santa is real. He is coming to the mall. You can sit on his lap and tell him what you want.”

David, kind of scowls and contemplates what has just been said. Then responds, “Santa Claus just means give a gift and not be found out.”

Later, we were shopping for gifts for the two children we had selected from the Angel Tree. David and Beverly were getting to love on someone in a tangible way just because God loves those children. Because my kids talk to everyone, Beverly excitedly told an older man in the toy area that she was buying a gift and not being found out. David loudly reprimanded her, “We aren’t supposed to tell about Santa!” And, he slugged her arm.

It seems that living off the culture grid is harder, much harder, when you have children. Sigh!

Just Busy

I haven’t been around much lately. This is how I have been spending my time:

• Beverly, how many syllables are in hat? What is the first sound you hear when you say hat? What /h/ are we going to use. What is the second sound you hear? No not /t/. Let me say it for you ha-a-a-a-t.
• David, the phonogram /a/,/a/, /ah/ is a circle letter. We start circle letters at 2′ on the clock. Put your pencil on 2′ on the clock, curve up to the dotted line.
• Marissa is doing better, but has had a very difficult month. Continue to pray for her as she transitions into adulthood. She is very anxious, depressed and excitedly anticipating being emancipated but believes she is not good enough to make it. Her recent behaviors and choices can only be described as deliberately odd. I have decided to stop trying to make sense out of nonsense. I am insisting on adult behaviors and responsibility or her freedoms are severely limited. I know this probably won’t work after she turns 18. But, I have three months before I have to worry about that.
• I went to the Mall of America to attend the Pioneer Woman’s Cookbook Signing. I did buy a copy of The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Recipes from an Accidental Country Girl; I didn’t get it signed. What a zoo. This is the closest I got to Ree Drummond. I am on a different floor. I walked right by Marlboro Man! He was posing for a photo. He looked like he would rather be shoveling manure than working the crowd. So, I just walked by and smiled at their two boys.

I'm not standing in that long line. This is a mad house. I'll wait until she invites me to her ranch!

• A trip to my niece and nephews birthday party. A trip to Ron’s parents home for Thanksgiving dinner! I had said I would do Thanksgiving this year, but because it was so wet and yucky here in October, farmers still had crops in the field. My father-in-law was still harvesting corn on Thanksgiving day. Corn that had to be dried at an additional cost for storage.
• I am crafty. Using ideas from Altered Shoes: A Step-By-Step Guide To Making Your Footwear Fabulous, I made shoes for St. Nicholas Day for the kids. I bought the shoes at a second hand store.

I'm going to do what St. Nicholas was about, I will give gifts and not be found out!

• Picked out two children from out town’s Angel Tree. Beverly and David worked a day with me and earned money to help pay for gifts to be given anonymously. David and Beverly were very excited to St. Nicholas someone.
• Finally, and annoyingly, drove to the cities to see Beverly’s specialist to discuss a medication change. I could have made this decision over the phone. Instead, I drove through an icy, snowy, windy storm and back. And, can you believe, I had to wait forever for the appointment. Why? Well, we were waiting for an interpreter of course. I guess that the people in the Pediatric Specialty Clinic assumed Beverly still spoke Creole. First, she has been here well over a year. She doesn’t use Creole, ever. She barely remembers Creole. Second, she’s 6. She is not making decisions about which medication she is going to be taking. I selected the one that has to be injected three times a week. Beverly would have never, ever picked that one. She doesn’t like being poked! Who cares that the oral medication doesn’t have any safety and efficacy studies on kids younger than 16? Who cares that a small number of people have experienced a worsening of their disease? Who even cares about the black box warning on the drug? She would have picked it anyway just to avoid “pickies.”

Attachment, Parenting and Adoption

I apologize for those who received an RSS feed with the draft of this post. I don’t recall having scheduled it to post, but I must have. I fear you all got a glimpse into the working of my brain that reveals disjointed thoughts and flights of ideas. Some of you must wonder how I turn all of those thoughts into a cohesive blog entry.

I am still struggling with this entry topic. I thought perhaps it was because I am too emotionally invested, but last night I realized that is not entirely true. The problem with this topic is that I am not sure what I am writing about. The concepts of attachment, attachment parenting and attachment disorder are inadequately defined. The lack of a clear, agreed upon definitions makes using these concepts in psychological research problematic. Still, researchers and adoption experts have taken what is intuitive about creating a safe environment for an infant or young child and run amok with them. Further muddying the picture is that the same term is used by many different groups of people to mean completely different things. As my brain tried to get its mind around a concept, I realize my angst, anger and anxiety related to this topic does not really fit neatly into one easy idea. My thoughts became a flight of ideas.

I was naive when I adopted the first time. I had been raised in a stable, two parent home. Our home wasn’t touched by poverty or addiction. When I chose to adopt a waiting child from the US Foster Care system, I really didn’t understand what that would mean. I could verbalize that the children came from homes where their needs weren’t being met. I just didn’t understand. My eyes were open as I read the files of the little girls that the caseworkers hoped to place in my home. I didn’t understand until I read files little children left alone for days without food. I didn’t even understand what wrath meant until I read of a little girl who had killed a litter of cats. She had been placed in foster care when her biological mother chose to reunite with the man who had molested her.

I believe man is the crowning glory of God’s creation. Man is a triune being because he is an image bearer. Our children have a body, soul and spirit. And, prior to coming into our home, the child has likely been scarred in each of these areas. There bodies may have been physically abused. They may not have gotten adequate nutrition. Like Marissa, their brains may have been permanently damaged by prenatal exposure to alcohol. Like Beverly, lack of preventative medical care, may mean they area chronically ill.

Their soul is scarred too. Their imaginations and memories are often frightening. The child may have learned that wrong is right. They may have difficulty expression love and affection. Because the child’s understanding of the world remains affected by what they believe to be true, reasoning, even in neurotypical kids, can seem unreasonable.

Finally, many adopted children have learned to put their faith in, worship and revere something other than God. Long ago I made a commitment to God. It was made from the comfort of an easy life. Still, I find myself asking things like, if God is good and omnipotent, why would a child be born with fetal alcohol syndrome? Or to parents who don’t have the skills to raise a child? Why would he allow poverty to exist? They are questions I haven’t fully answered. And, a God who is presented in Scripture as a father may be hard to embrace for a child who has only known an abusive earthly father.

But, it seems that getting our minds around a triune human is no easier than getting our minds around a triune God. The idea is too big and too abstract to operationalize, by that I mean make it meaningful in our real life. Only those without children parent on a conceptual level. The rest of us need real life interventions and support. My training is as a registered nurse. A nursing diagnosis is far different than a medical diagnosis. Nursing diagnosis are based on functional status. For example, a doctor might diagnose a patient with a myocardial infarction (heart attack); the nursing diagnosis would include things like acute pain, activity intolerance and knowledge deficit. Is it professional bias to believe that a nursing diagnosis or identifying functional deficits are better than labeling a child whose life experience are abnormal with a diagnosis of Reactive Attachment Disorder?