What Lies Ahead

I have been home with my kids for nearly fifteen years and I have loved every, single minute of it. I have remained patient and full of the holy spirit for the entirety of the past decade and a half, and I would never - under any circumstances - drive past my house and go around the block multiple times just so I can finish an audiobook in glorious, uninterrupted peace. Also, I have no flaws, so...

Okay, fine. I am a liar. And the past 15 years have been just slightly more nuanced than that. Maybe I do have flaws. Like, if I had to ballpark… I’d say maybe 5-7 flaws come to mind?

Okay, fine. I’m a liar. Again. I barely survived the past 15 years. My flaws are infinite, and they are just scattered haphazardly all over the floor with the other rando debris in my home. But, while it’s true that I have loved being home all these years, I hate when people say they loved “every minute” of something, as if that’s even possible. Clearly it’s a gross exaggeration and if there is one thing I won’t stand for it’s a gross exaggeration.

Okay, look, I am just going to be lying on and off, basically this whole post. The truth is, my favorite kind of exaggerations are the gross ones. Still, I do despise an overly tidy sum-up of something as complex and layered as 15 years of parenting! Or a lifetime of devotion to a particular profession, or 60 years of marriage, or 25 years of serving our country. Any experience that could be compared to Sisyphus pushing that boulder up a hill over and over cannot possibly be enjoyed 100% of the time.

Still, I really have loved being home all these years. And if I could go back and do it all over again, I would make the same decision to be home. I loved being there for every first - first taste of every food, first steps, first words, first time covering their entire room with sidewalk chalk, or oil paints, or human feces. I rarely ever missed a first anything. And that I loved. I have loved being the room parent and chaperoning all the field trips. I loved being able to bring my kids their stuff when they forgot it at home. I also loved not bringing them their stuff sometimes, so that they would learn the lesson of being more prepared. I loved that I had the choice.

But, there were also a lot of things that I hated. I hated when people would say I was lucky that I could afford to stay home - as if we haven’t made huge financial sacrifices by living below the poverty line for a hundred years. I hated not showering for more days in a row than I care to admit, because I WAS NEVER ALONE. I hated having no sick days, and I hated the moments that I wish I could do over. I have a lot of moments that I regret. Moments of selfishness, impatience, and straight up ugliness. I regret not savoring each day that I had my babies home. I regret the times when I wished away the hard days and longed for this season to come - the season when all my kids would be in school full-time.

Now that time is nearly upon me. On September the sixth, in the year Two Thousand and Eighteen, I will be alone for the first time in 15 years. People ask me what I will do with myself. Here is what I plan to do with myself, in alphabetical order:

• Be alone.

• Blog more frequently.

• Complete tasks. Observe/record what it is like when the task is not immediately UNdone by another, smaller person.

• Eat pieces of candy without risk of what I call “the seagull effect.”

• Finish writing my book.

• Go to a doctor for adults.

• Have conversations with adults.

• Hire new booking agent.

• Increase the number of speaking engagements from what I was previously able to do.

• Maintain flexibility in schedule so I can still be room parent/chaperone all the things.

• Paint fingernails.

• Shower daily, during regular daylight hours.

• Submit book proposal to publishing company.

• Work during daylight hours.

• Work without noise-cancelling headphones.

This might seem too ambitious, or maybe not ambitious enough. I honestly have no way of gauging what is realistic to accomplish during a school day. I had my first child in college, like a sinner, so I have no idea what it will be like to have five school-aged children and a whole day to accomplish things.

Here’s what I do know. I am at peace with it all. Not because I loved every single second of how it was, or because I have no regrets or because I was so awesome at being a stay-at-home mom 100% of the time. I am at peace with it because it’s what is happening. It will be like everything else… some of it will go too fast, and some of it will feel like it’s dragging on. Parts of this coming season will be easier, and I will probably be dismayed to discover that some parts will be harder. Some days will feel free, and some will be a grind. It’s going to be whatever it’s going to be, and I am at peace with all the unknowns and the certain bittersweetness of it all. While I am embracing the change, I am also operating under the total assumption that there will be a minimum of 84 mental breakdowns during that first week of school.

Until that day (where I can be found at home in a ball, eating candy, with a youtube video of seagulls attacking a sandwich playing in the background) I am preparing my heart for whatever God puts in front of me this year. In anticipation of what’s to come, I am so excited to announce that the amazing Jonathan Capuano - digital arts/graphic design extraordinaire - has completely revamped my website! While you’re here, please take a look around at how profesh he is making me look! My favorite new feature is that you can now send a request to book a speaking engagement directly through the site or, as always, connect with me through the contact page. I would love to speak at your next event - youth, church, college, women, corporate… I have had the opportunity to keynote so many incredible events in the past couple of years and I have loved every single second of it.

(Still, with the lying. smh)

Okay, fine… I maybe haven’t loved EVERY second, but if there is one thing I have learned in the past fifteen years, it’s that you don’t have to love every single second of something to know that you were made to do it. I was made to be a mom. But I was also made to be a fun and compassionate speaker who isn’t afraid to ask the hard questions, or to tell the hard truths or to lie comedically via gross exaggeration. So, I can’t wait for this next season of life, because I get to do all of the things that I love so much - writing, speaking, momming, eating pieces of candy. Even if there are a few seconds here and there that aren’t my favorite, I get to be what God created me to be, and I am still wrapping my mind around what a glorious and wonderful gift that is.

--

Lara is now booking events for 2018/19, click HERE to invite her to speak at your next event.

Days 15 & 16 - Kindness Co-op

I am going to combine Days 15 & 16 because I am a day behind on blogging. I blame Squarespace website swindlers (the people who make you buy your own name on the internet) because they won’t allow me to save drafts as I am working on them. They do this because they don’t just want your money, they want you to go absolutely insane. Well played Squarespace, you obvious victor you.

There is a bit of a theme to my kindnesses for these past two days so the last laugh is on Squarespace. Days 15 & 16 were really all about kids. The smallest of these #AdamsActs was for London and Harper (my own kids.) There was a bit of an altercation in the morning and we are really big on having the kids make repairs to their relationships with people when they’ve done something wrong or hurtful. They don’t just apologize (in fact I don’t like them to insincerely apologize ever) but they do have to acknowledge a few things. They must acknowledge:

1. This is what I did wrong.
2. This is why it’s wrong.
3. This is what I can do differently next time.

After acknowledging those things, they need to ask how they can make the other person feel better. After the struggle du jour, London decided that what would repair the damage to their relationship would be having Harper's help when cleaning her bedroom after school.

She doesn't exactly love cleaning by herself.

We always enforce that they follow through on the reparation agreement. This sounds like a lot of work, but I promise you that when you have a child with a behavioral disorder, there is a lot of opportunity for siblings to harbor resentment. This actually preserves relationships and in the long run actually saves a lot of time because they have learned how to resolve conflict themselves. Between this strategy and my husband's invention of The Tattle Tax, our children are practically parenting themselves.

So, here we are at #AdamsActs for London and Harper. They can both easily become overwhelmed with a multi-step chore. To make it more fun for them to work together, I will sometimes make these silly lists for them to break a big chore down into manageable - and sometimes silly - steps. They LOVE when I do this and it really is a kindness to myself because they work so much better together when the mood is light and playful. And a touch of potty humor usually does the trick.

This list:

Makes this job:

Suddenly way more fun.

My first act of kindness was to help my own kids, but my second and third #AdamsActs are about other kids. For the past two nights Tom and I spoke at two final panel discussions about foster care and adoption and I spent some time today connecting with a few different people from those meetings who wanted more information.

And finally, we signed up to sponsor a child through Compassion with our neighbors Danielle and Derek. You may find it ridiculous that we are going halfsies on a sponsorship, but look… these are some lean months for us and it would be reeeeeally easy to say no. But instead of saying “No, we cannot afford another $38 a month” we creatively decided that we probably could do $38 every other month! For some of us $38 is nothing, but for a lot of us it’s a really huge sacrifice to commit another $38 on top of regular giving. No matter what $38 means to us though, I can guarantee it means a lot more to these families who receive support through Compassion. I want to encourage you all to sponsor a child, or give to a different organization whose mission you value. And if you cannot afford to do it alone, grab a neighbor to share the burden with you. If you and your neighbor can swing it together, get the whole neighborhood involved. I don’t care if your kid’s whole soccer team splits the $38 a month… just do something! Do anything. And if we all partner together with these small kindnesses and small donations, we will collectively make a huge impact for kids like Erick.

A Deadbeat Mom's Tips for Surviving Summer: Tip #3 Get a Puppy, or a Mulch Pile

For those of you who are rounding toward the home plate of summer’s end, I want to offer one more tip in this mini-series for surviving the summer with your kiddos home. I realize that my last tip was a bit more labor intensive… so for my final tip, I am offering two different options for summer fun, each requiring a very different level of effort on your part. It’s sort of like a choose-your-own regret-adventure, where you get to decide which approach best suits your family! What fun.

So, let’s cut to the chase. We did two really ambitious things this summer. While there are some fundamental differences between the two adventures, I submit that both have provided endless hours of entertainment for the children, both have taught our kids a sense of responsibility, both have taught me to release some control and live in the moment. Without further ado, I offer you your first option... 

Tip #3A: Get a Puppy

On the last day of school, we surprised our five kids with a puppy. (Nobody should ever write that sentence because it is foolish and simply reading it makes my blood pressure go up.) Still, we did it. Because how much fun is it to surprise children with a gift-wrapped box filled to the brim with baby dog? And that moment was so much fun. And now... we have a dog forever.

I honestly have zero regrets though, because I am surprised and pleased to announce that I actually like this one particular dog. Just this one. On planet earth, there’s one fantastic pup and I found her living with an amish lady and a small amish child that likes to sit on pupppies. So, yes, I consider her a rescue dog, because how would you like to be trapped under so many apron layers?

Anyways, we rescued a dog and she is adorbsies and we love her. The children have begged for a pet since infancy, so this was nearly 14 years in the making. But, the best part is because we waited so long (and because I am the meanest mom on this side of the Mississippi) the kids are actually taking an active role in training and caring for her. It’s been really fun actually. Plus it gives me this great thing to throw out there for Mom points.

Child: Can we go to Seabreeze (our local amusement/water park)?

Me: We decided that instead of spending money on things like Seabreeze this summer, we would get you this puppy. (holds puppy in front of child and makes it “talk” in baby voice.)          

Child: (Squealing with love and delight forgets that Seabreeze exists.)

--

Child: Can I have a snack?

Me: Well, we have no food in the house because I haven’t gone to the store since ‘98, BUT… I did get you a puppy! (**hunger pangs forgotten**)

--

Child: I think I might be growing out of my running shoes, do you think we could get new ones before cross country starts?

Me: Your feet don’t grow, we just got you a puppy!

Okay, so maybe it doesn’t work exactly like that. But, I do talk for the puppy in a variety of adorable accents which doesn’t annoy anyone ever. And having a new puppy does also provide a lot of great opportunities for the various sibling combinations to spend time together. Two kids are particularly whiny? Guess whose turn it is to take the dog for an extra long walk together!? Overall I would say it has been a sheer delight to have a pup in the fam. Oh, and she jingles a bell when she has to go out. #winning

I do realize that not everyone will want to rescue an amish dog, even if her ears are so big and adorable. So for those of you who are not interested, fret not, I still have a great plan for you!

I offer you...

Tip #3B Get a Mulch Pile!

If you can believe it, we’ve actually had our mulch pile even longer than our dog. In mulch years, we’ve had the pile for just over one century. We rescued the mulch pile from the town, because they just throw mulch in a huge parking lot and let people take it for free. It’s basically like a backyard breeding, mulch mill up in here. So, we brought home as much mulch as we felt prepared to neglect all summer long and we put it in a heap in the driveway.

Not our actual mulch pile. This is a dramatization. 

And, just like our puppy, we have zero regrets about bringing this lovable pile of mulch home to tarnish our reputation by taking up permanent residence in our driveway. Also like the puppy, this pile of mulch has provided hours of messy entertainment for the children. And I think it has also earned me a bonus Mom point or two this summer.

--

Child: We have literally no outdoor toys.

Me: That is not true. Your brother has been pushing mulch around with a skateboard for at least two hours. Umm summer fun much??

Child: (admits how blind she’s been to all the exciting, mulch-based opportunities and we both throw our heads back in hearty, good-natured laughter. Annnnnd end scene.) 

--

But don’t be fooled, just because mulchboard makes for premium outdoor fun, doesn’t mean there won’t be some whining. Remember the three kids that aren’t walking the puppy? That’s right, they’re also a little fussy and now guess who’s on deck for sweeping the mulch back into a pile? Hint: everyone. Because a mulch pile takes a lot of care and responsibility and people think kids aren’t ready for that kind of commitment, but I disagree. I think every child should experience what it’s like to grow up with a mulch pile in their yard.

Here are 5 Ways to Tell if Your Child is Ready for a Pet and/or Pile:

1. Your child is comfortable and respectful around animals or mulch.

2. Your family can agree on the type of pet or mulch that is right for your family.

3. Your child can hold a leash or broom.

4. Your child has given pet-sitting a trial run, or played in the neighbor’s mulch or something?

5. Your child is very sick of having zero outdoor toys.

Photo courtesy of vermontvalleyfarm.wordpress.com featuring the ever-ambitious dog-mulch combo pack. 

So there you have it. Two fantastic options to engage your kids all summer long by making a decision that will last so much longer than one summer, and ultimately be your problem when the kids go back to school in three weeks!

A DeadBeat Mom's Tips for Surviving Summer: Tip #1 Tattle Tax

In New York, our summer weather lasts for five whole entire minutes. And not, like, five minutes in a row or anything. What I mean is that from May until September there will be five perfect minutes dispersed willy nilly throughout the months. Half of those precious, sunshiny minutes will take place while you are in the waiting room at the orthodontist. The other half of the minutes will appear, without warning, sandwiched in between hail and an inexplicable windpocalypse. And this half of the minutes are magical. Like a unicorn.

Because of the severe lack of awesome weather here, it feels like a crime against humanity that our kids go to school until nearly the end of June. This year, they missed ⅓ of the nice weather minutes because they were still in school. And it wasn't like they were even being educated at this point… they were just barely contained because everyone under the age of 100 goes absolutely bananas when there is finally nice weather. So, the kids are learning nothing but Flag Day songs, while the NWM (nice weather minutes) are just evaporating into the atmosphere - to be immediately replaced by 99.75% humidity.

By early June, I start seeing pictures on Facebook of kids’ last day of school. By mid-June, people are camping and hosting neighbors for bonfires. By the end of June, everyone else is enjoying the “staycation” portion of summer. But oh no, not here in New York. Here, at the end of June, we still got field day so…

But here I am now, four weeks (and 4.5 NWM) into the shortest summer vacation in America, and I am wondering how on earth I will make it to September. I don’t know about everyone else, but summer days are longggggg when you’re home with five kids (and it won’t stop raining.) Now, don’t get me wrong here. I love my precious angel babies, and by the time school ends I am equal parts excited, relieved, and terrified. It’s “a different kind of busy!” than the school year, I cheerfully tell people at the grocery store as a gaggle of children follow behind me, just wanting gum so bad.

And it’s true, it’s definitely a different kind of busy. It’s the kind of busy that makes me hide in the basement for three minutes and forty eight seconds, so I can just watch one America’s Got Talent audition video on youtube. Because, those auditions are life. Those auditions make me weep, and then believe in myself. And I am inspired to go on.

And in the spirit of going on, I will be doing a mini-series of blogs about how to survive the remainder of the summer. If you only read one tip, this is the one to read, because it will not only change your summer with your children… but it will change your whole life.

You will want to make out with my husband after you read this, because he is responsible for the brilliance that IS... Tip #1. You may not make out with him - you homewrecker - but I can understand why you’d be tempted, because this tip for summer survival is the single reason that my children are still allowed to live in my house. Without further ado, I offer you…

TIP #1:  Immediately institute the TATTLE TAX.

As citizens of our home, the children have certain inalienable rights. Not many, but, whatevs… everyone’s eating, alright? Our citizens also have certain responsibilities. These vary depending on the child’s age, ability, special skill set and whether or not I am spazzing about company coming. And then there are the privileges. These can be earned or lost depending solely on my mood and how many times that day I have been asked for gum. Beyond the rights, responsibilities and privileges, we also offer our citizens certain services.

Enter: taxes.

As benevolent dictators, one service that we will provide the citizens of our home is that of conflict mediation. If our citizens cannot or will not independently resolve a conflict, and we receive an “incident report” (formerly known as tattling), we happily provide the service of mediation… as long as both parties have paid their taxes. For the reasonable tariff (one completed chore) we will provide our citizens with the invaluable service of conflict management. The plaintiffs must complete the chore TOGETHER and to my satisfaction and once the tax has been collected, conflict resolution will be promptly executed.

Guess what my kids don’t do anymore?

That’s right. Tattle.

You know what they do now? They talk it through like the angelic creatures I taught them to be. Or they stuff their feelings and move on. I honestly don’t care which it is. Because all I know is that I have gotten hours of my life back, and my kids are learning the valuable lesson of letting go of an offense instead of always getting their mother involved. Do you know how much better they will be at life because they are learning to solve and/or avoid their problems? So much better.

I will say that I have, on occasion, allowed tax exemptions for extenuating circumstances. If someone comes for help because they or another child is in danger? Tax break. If an older (trusted) child is appropriately coaching a younger citizen, and the younger party is still, I don’t know, let’s say… licking the window like a feral cat, backup will be provided and read my lips, no. new. taxes.

But apart from these unusual scenarios, tattling is virtually a thing of the past. In it’s place is the very lucrative business of tax collecting. And - all kidding aside - my kids really are learning the valuable lessons essential for the success of all human relationships: Which offenses are worth sorting out? Which issues must be accepted vs. hashed out? Is it more important to win an argument or to come to a compromise? How do we deal with irrational people? How do we speak up for ourselves and/or negotiate? How to listen and forgive and repair relationships.

And, most importantly, how to make vacuuming a two man job. 

Are Kids "Lucky" to be Adopted?

I have never been so thoroughly pursued by a man in all my life as I have been by my four year old son. I am telling you, this child proposes marriage - not daily - but hourly. And those are on his weaker days! Sometimes the professions of love and desperate proposals come incessantly. When he kisses me goodnight, it is with both of his sweet, almost-always-sticky brown hands pressed on each side of my face (a romantic proclamation of my beauty is usually involved at this point) and then he kisses me in a frenzy of uncontrolled emotion. With these bodacious lips.

It is the most adorable and unnecessary display of passion I've ever been the recipient of. And it happens all. day. long. Quite simply, the boy is in love. But, there is something peculiar about the urgency and intensity of his affections for me. It has taken me some time to put my finger on why exactly that is. He seems almost desperate in his expressions of love, to the point that he seems almost exasperated by it.

"I'm gonna marry you so much!" and "I'm just lovin' you, UGH I'm just lovin' you so MUCH." He picks flowers for me every time we step foot outside - one bunch of dandelions "for now" and the other handful "for our wedding tomorrow, or yesterday." I have never met a four year old boy so preoccupied with getting married. So, I decided to get to the bottom of his romantic shenanigans.

After several long discussions, I think I have come to a place of understanding. He is afraid.

Jay was about 24 hours old when I first met him in the hospital. His first mom, the lovely Miss N., and I had been in contact over the phone during the weeks leading up to his birth. Tom and I developed a fast connection with her, and because we had already had a previous adoption fall through, we knew that the child she was carrying may not end up being part of our family. And while common sense, previous experience, and all of our loved ones told us to be cautious, we loved her. We weren't thinking about "protecting ourselves" or "not getting too attached." Our relationship with her was developing not because we hoped to parent her child, but because she is adorable and not loving her would be impossible. We made a promise to her that we would be there to help and support her in any way she needed, regardless of the decision she ended up making. She invited us to come to the birth and seemed firm in her decision to place Jay with us when he was born. Still, we reminded her that giving birth is an unimaginable game-changer, and we wanted her to have plenty of room to feel free to change her mind if she felt at any point that she wanted to pursue parenting opposed to placing him with us. We tried to be supportive and encouraging throughout the emotion. To be completely honest, as much as we loved Jay from the first moment we laid eyes on him, we were pulling for her to parent. We really believed she could do it. 

For her own personal reasons - reasons that are hers to tell, not mine - she allowed us to be his parents. It was a gift, a great responsibility and an honor, of course. But it was also a tragedy. 

For a baby and his mother to be separated from one another is always an utter tragedy. The grief that Tom and I experienced on their behalf was minuscule in comparison to what they endured. This is true for both of our children who came to us through adoption. And while it looks so different for them both, every single day I see the primal wound that this separation has inflicted upon my babies. And their first mamas.

Since realizing this, Jay's romantic advances, while precious, have become just like every other aspect of adoption. There is a bitter-sweetness underlying every kiss, a complex fear of being apart from me that drives every impassioned sentiment, a child's desperate attempt to guarantee that he will never lose another mama drives every marriage proposal.

Both of my boys are perfect, but they are both hurting in their own way. They both long for the security that comes from a mother's love. People often downplay the pain that adoptees endure, assuming that a child who was adopted in infancy "never knows the difference." These same people will watch nature documentaries and marvel that a sea turtle can travel all over the ocean and make its way back to it's home. (I don't actually know if sea turtles do that, but you get my drift.) If an animal has a primal instinct to find it's way home, how much more does a human child have that same pull?

And I may not know much about sea turtles, but I do know this... my boys, in some sense, will always be longing for home. And people say that they are "lucky to have us." But, when my nine year old son wakes up with his heart pounding in his chest because he dreamed of meeting his beautiful birthmom for the very first time, lucky isn't how I'd describe him.

Whether they can understand all the nuances at this point or not, they will always know that in our home, they have the right to feel sad about their adoption. And they have the right to feel happy about it too, and angry, and confused, and relieved and all the things. Even... unlucky. 

My prayer is that as they grow and mature, and really begin to feel the weight and implications of their adoption stories, that they will forgive us for all the ways that we could not meet their needs, for every shortcoming and every imperfection. My prayer is that our flaws will only make them long for another home, and eternal home, where our perfect Father waits to hold them and love them and meet every need they ever had. 

Life in the Tension

Sometimes I like to imagine what my kids will remember me teaching them throughout their childhood. What will stick? Will they remember all the "I love you's?" Will the "you're so brave's" and "tell me about your day's" be the words that become fastened to their memory? Or will something else overshadow the sweet and encouraging sentiments? One thing I frequently tell them that they find less favorable (but I am certain they will remember me saying) is "that is not a real problem." Let's run this down so we are all clear on what a real problem is in our house.

Scenario 1: You are four years old and you have no food to eat. At all. Ever.

Correct, that's a real problem. 

Scenario 2: You are four years old and you do not like "beet taste." 

Not even close to a real problem. (Also, beets are delicious.)  

Scenario 3: You must spend a half a day walking to a source of (questionably) drinkable water. 

Yes, this. This is a real problem. 

Scenario 4: Your food touches.  

No. Having your hot, nutritious food touch other bits of hot, nutritious food? That is - comically - not a real problem. 

You can see how they might remember me saying this. Because it is said frequently. And trust me, we are a big 'feelings' house. We talk about our feelings, we validate each others feelings, we use lots of expressive feeling words. There is no shutting down how they might feel about beets. This is a safe space to feel strong dislike for "beet taste." While I strive to always hear and even affirm their feelings, I don't pretend for a second that this is a real problem. 

I was discussing this with my friend Megan the other day. (Some of you might remember her from previous #AdamsActs posts about the heartbreaking loss of one of their sweet little twin girls, Zoey.) Megan and I were discussing our very low threshold for problems-that-aren't-really-problems. I think that low threshold is directly correlated with experiencing great and tragic loss. It changes you. It changes your perspective on what suffering is. It changes your capacity to tolerate complaints about that which is not a real problem. 

When facing challenges of various kinds, the leaders at our church will often use this phrase, "This is a tension to manage, not a problem to solve." Ugh... I love this, and oh how I wish that this concept would go ahead and just embed itself in my memory already! There are some challenges in my life that I have viewed as problems I desperately need to solve. Or avoid. Or feel sorry for myself about. These "problems" are not really problems to solve, they are simple tensions to manage. 

Instead of graciously managing the tensions, I have tried to control the tensions. I have tried solving the tensions. I have attempted to escape or avoid or blame the tensions. Shoot, I'd punch the tensions in the face if I could. Yet, nothing changes... the tension remains.

I recently shifted my definition of a problem to something more like this: a problem is only a problem if there is an actionable step one can take to work toward a solution. If no actionable step can be taken, there can be a lot of tension. That tension needs to be managed in a healthy way.

Parenting a child with a pretty severe behavioral disorder can feel a heck of a lot like a life-consuming problem. Except for one thing... there is no actionable step that I can possibly take to work toward a solution.

I must live in the tension. 

I can pray in the tension. I can cry in the tension. I can seek wise counsel in the tension. I can adjust my attitude about the tension. But I cannot solve it. I must accept it. 

The focus then is not on how to "solve" my son's disorder, but on how I can remain emotionally, physically and spiritually healthy enough to manage the tension that surfaces in light of my son's disorder.   

You may be wondering, "Who cares? What's the difference?" But the difference is everything. It's the difference between overwhelming shame that I cannot heal my child, and accepting him where he's at in his process. It's the difference between feeling exhausted and infuriated by the sheer volume of time spent supervising every little move, and recognizing our family's need for respite in order to prevent that fury and exhaustion. 

The difference is the understanding that I cannot play the Holy Spirit in my child's life. In the tension, I can only manage my own reactions, my own health, my relationships. But in the tension, I can know that I did not cause my child to have Reactive Attachment Disorder any more than I can cause my child's aversion to the glorious taste of a perfectly roasted sugarbeet. 

I did not cause either of these phenomena, and I cannot "cure" them either. I can only manage myself in the tension. 

It's hard to suffer well. And the greatest suffering occurs when there is no actionable step to take, because we cannot solve our way out of our pain. We cannot bring back the child that died. Or the parent who left. We cannot heal the primal wound that is left within the child who is separated from his first mother. 

We must simply learn to live, and accept, and love, in the tension.

So, when my five little ones are all grown and they reflect back upon their childhood, I hope that what they remember most is all the expressions of love, encouragement and adoration. Yet, I don't mind if they also remember me clarifying the difference between a real problem - real suffering - and something that is simply a tension to manage. Not only do I hope they remember hearing me speak these truths into their life, but I hope they remember me living, and loving, in the tensions... and teaching them to someday do the same. 

Jay, age four, confronting his greatest fear, a beet.  

To All the Other Haggard Moms Parenting a RAD Child

There is nothing so painful as unrequited love. And there is no love as powerful as a parent's love for their child. So when you love your child and he does not, can not, love you back... it might be the most heartbreaking scenario of them all. 

At least that is how I am feeling now... that (apart from losing a child) there is no pain I can fathom like having a living child that you cannot reach. 

Unrequited attachment, unabsorbed love.

And the world takes the salt of misunderstanding and rubs it into the proverbial wound. All kids lie, they say. Or steal, or hurt others, or themselves.

All kids want control. All kids say hurtful things.

All kids... 

He is not all kids. He is my kid. And I know him best. I know what makes him sicker. I know that treating him like "all kids" is one of those things.

I am exhausted. I am fed up. I am done explaining to people that yes, a child can be traumatized inside a womb. Google it. I am tired of trying to convince people that an unborn baby who develops in a bath of cortisol (stress hormones) instead of bonding chemicals will not respond to life or love in the same way as a typically developed child. I am all done explaining how exposure to different substances may harm a child's ability to bond and connect. I will not keep explaining that my child is both brilliant and unable to choose wisely. I will not keep asking for support only to be questioned or accused or dismissed. I am done.

Except that I'm not. I'm never done. As much as I freakin want to be done... I am not even close.

We are on four different waiting lists for various supports and schools and services. We have four siblings who are confused and wounded and are trapped between knowing that they must forgive, and their natural instinct to protect themselves from a person that causes them pain. 

I cannot describe the sight of a small, furious, hurting sister shaking her fists with the totality of her exasperation. The helplessness in her eyes, matched by my own.

 And all I can say is "I know baby. Me too." 

I cannot take away my son's pain. I can not make him feel unabandoned. I am not enough to fill in neurological gaps or heal his amygdala. My love is not that big. My love is not enough. YOUR love is not enough... so don't try to be his friend, or tell me to love him where he is at. I do. It's all I have done. And it isn't working. And I will keep doing it because there is nothing else to be done. But, all I can do is still not enough. 

I read the Bible so I know that God IS enough. I know that. But, right now... it's looking a lot more like

God + an unreasonable amount of time + so much pain in the interim = enough

I know that I sound hopeless. I know that all this is raw and scattered and probably sounds dramatic. But of one thing I am sure, there is at least one set of eyes on the other side of this screen that are filled with dysfunctionally relieved tears. One set of eyes that are seeing their feelings put into words, maybe for the first time.

So, I am writing to her. To the isolated, discouraged, helpless mom who's love is unrequited:

Hey. What's up? Thanks for somehow finding my blog. (Probably at 3am.) What you are going through is really, really hard. For you, and even harder for your child. You probably chose adoption because you wanted to be the family that helps to complete a child and now you are realizing that - surprise! - your family is being torn apart instead. Listen. Here are some things I need to hear on a regular basis and sometimes I have to say them to myself. 

1- You are not alone. There are a crap ton of us out here going through this, but most of us are too ashamed of ourselves, or too protective of our kids, to talk about it. There are a lot of anonymous blogs, but be careful, people are angry and exhausted and they sometimes bash their children. That's not okay, and it's not helpful for you.

2- You didn't cause this. (Unless you are an abusive dirtbag and you did cause this.) You didn't cause this.

3- Nobody, literally nobody, will understand what you are going through unless they are also a parent of a RAD kid. Social workers, psychologists, attachment therapists, adoption specialists, respite providers, felllow adoptees, friends, family... they all have their place, and they may even be excellent and able to help. They will not understand. Unless they are raising a child with RAD, or have done so in the past, they simply won't get it. 

4- A lot of people won't believe you. They probably will eventually, but until then, there will be a lot of advice and suggestions and have you tried's. There will be a lot of judgement. There will be a lot of people who try to "rescue" your child by loving on him, because they can't understand that you have done that, and it wasn't enough.

5- Get a door alarm and a video monitor. You need sleep, and peace of mind, and you need both of these to have a snowball's chance at either of them.

6- It's okay to go away. You need respite. Your other children need respite. Your hurting child needs respite. You all need to breath, and it's really okay to make room for it. It's not just okay, it's necessary.

7- Find a Lexi. A Lexi is a faithful friend, a champion for your self-care, a devoted caregiver, and defender of the weak and a giver of good gifts... like breaks from your child and cups of hot coffee. She doesn't have to be named Lexi, but mine is, and I couldn't do this without her. 

8- He can't love you. It's not that he won't, it's that he can't. He might want to love you, or he might actually love you, in his way, but he can't show it. He can't stop protecting himself from your love. Your love is scary to him, but it's also all you've got. And when you run out, it's okay to fake it. 

9- This is probably going to be the hardest thing you will ever do, and the biggest fight you will ever fight. You will probably not see results for a really long time. You might not ever see results. You must keep going. You signed up for this, even if you didn't know it at the time, and it is your job to keep going. And it's going to break your heart over and over and over. 

10- I know baby, me too. 

About Leaving a Family.

I have a secret fear that one day I will snap and totally abandon my family.

(Honey, if you are reading this - and you better be reading this - calm down, it's just a deep and irrational fear, I heart you and am not going anywhere. Hopefully my vow to stick around is good news.)

I know that I would rather die than leave my family. I know that I would rather be tortured Slumdog style than leave my family. I would rather impale my eye with a smoldering pretzel rod... you get the point. So, now that it's clear that I'm not looking to get outta dodge, and also that I have violent and disturbing thoughts on occasion, I am want to be open and honest about this fear.

I have known plenty of people who have done heinous and unexpected things to the people they love. I have faced my share of abuses at the hands (and mouths) of people who have claimed to love me. I have even been on the wicked and guilty end of sin situations as well... and I have hurt those I have truly loved. So, while I know I would never leave my family, I also know that we are all capable of terrible wrongdoing and, sadly, I have proved time and again that I am not the exception to this rule.

Still, I would not leave my family. Well, at least not for long. I am currently on an airplane right now headed to Portland, Oregon to be there with and for a dear friend who is about to welcome her second child, but her first baby girl, into the world. As I was leaving my baby girl, London informed me that she could not be happy or a good girl with me away, or "if you way" as she put it.

On my recent weekend trip to Washington DC for the Move:DC event, my friend Sam said something interesting to me, something along the lines of me being really good at being away. I know that she meant that I was able to leave my family and actually enjoy myself without being constantly worried about the kids or feeling guilty. I took it as a compliment, because it is a skill I am actually intentional about trying to cultivate: being engaged when I am with my kids, so I can be guilt-free and relaxed when I am apart from them. (Especially because these times are few and far between.)

Still, positive as I believe the remark was meant to be... it stirred in me a great reminder of this fear. What if I am good at being away because I am a leaver? What if I am closer to snapping and leaving than I think? What if wanderlust finally gets the better of me? What if I am the worst? What if the threat of a Slumdog beatdown can't even deter me?

This is when I need somebody to slap me really hard, or throw a drink in my face. This is when I need more Spanish soap opera stars in my life, ya know, someone who will get really irate and just shove me down a staircase.

I need a reminder that, yes, while better people have done worse, I am not going to leave my family. I think it is because I am so aware that I am capable of horrific crimes, like impaling someone's eye with a pretzel, that I am intentional in guarding my marriage and family life from those temptations. I think because I know that I could be a leaver, I have to cling to the grace of God. And only by His grace, and all the might and empowerment He stuffs into my soul, am I able to actively and purposefully become a stayer.

Except when my friend has a baby.

Then I go, but just for a bit. And knowing that my little girl can't be good or happy without me there is a great reminder to me about the effects of divorce on kids. I can clearly remember what it was like to feel like I lost the strength and know how to be happy, or a good girl, because somebody left.

I don't care how much we love our spouses or our kids or our lives... sometimes there comes a time when our wanderlust (or a different lust entirely) will call to us and promise something to us that will never be delivered. In those moments, I want to have this healthy fear of losing everything right in front of me...

This fearful knowledge that if I left, my babies would feel like they lost some of their own worth, some ability to muster the strength to be good girls and boys, and that they just couldn't be so happy "ifout me." And, perhaps, someone would also give me a big, fat shove down a winding staircase just in time to knock me back into reality.

I know that horrible things happen, and that every situation is different, and I am not judging any of those scenarios... I am simply saying that Sam was right. I am pretty good at being away, I catch up on reading, I listen to excellent jams, I chat with strangers and drink my coffee slowly and while it is still hot.

I savor each of these little gift-moments. And I do it (for the most part) without feeling guilty. I think that is because I know that I am not really leaving, I know that I am always fighting against any pull or lie that tells me to give up on my life. I know that I am choosing to be a stayer, and even if I am short of soap stars who will do it for me... By the supernatural grace of God, I believe I will gladly put a pretzel to the eye before I let myself be a leaver.

New Year, New Contract

Annalee and I spent about an hour and a half negotiating the terms of this contract. And by that I mean, I explained the terms, she asked for a raise, which I denied, and she suggested that I reconsider after she "tries it my way for a while."

This coming from the girl who handed me am invoice the other day for "babysitting" the younger kids at a family party. In the corner of the invoice it said "Key Bank" and included a charge of 88 cents of interest for not paying her on the day that her services were rendered.

I don't know if I am proud, or worried!

Before she signed the terms of the agreement, she asked if it was okay that instead of tithing 10% and saving 10%, that she continues spending, saving and tithing in equal parts. Which means the poor kid is going to work her fanny off for less than a buck a week, so that she can save a third and tithe a third.

When we first started teaching the kids about money we explained the three ways to use everything God gives us: give some, save some, spend some. We knew they couldn't comprehend percentages, so we just have them three pennies, one for each jar. The concept stuck and Annalee thinks that spending 80% "just doesn't make any sense."

Upon further thought... I may consider that raise sooner than later. Of course, after she "tries it my way" for a bit.