What is it with this kid and whistles? It must be a new obsession because I don't remember this happening before. (Perhaps I've blocked the traumatic memory?)
You may recall the post from a few weeks ago when we were all trapped in my Honda Civic and my middle daughter decided she would demonstrate the ski whistle they were all given at school as part of a winter safety awareness campaign. Knowing full well that her FASD prevents her from learning from this experience and not repeating it, I threw the whistle in the garbage when we got home. And sure enough, she had forgotten all about it the next day.
Several days later when I'm saying goodnight to her I notice something sticking out between her books on the nightstand and sure enough it's another %^&*ing ski whistle! Here's our conversation:
Me: Where did you get this?
Her: It's mine.
Me: But where did you get this from?
Her: Someone gave it to me.
Me: Who?
Her: (Shoulder shrug)
Me: Did you take this from your brother's room?
Her: No, someone gave it to me.
Me: Who?
Her: I don't know.
Me: I think you took this from your brother's room. It's not yours to take. Stay out of his room.
Her: (Shoulder shrug).
So I give the whistle back to her brother who says: I don't care if she has it or not, I don't want it.
Me: It's important that your sister knows she's not to take your things.
Him: I don't want it.
Me: Is it ok if I throw it out?
Him: Sure.
Problem solved, kinda sorta, right? All whistles in the house have been eliminated.
Then yesterday afterschool I took them both to the dentist. And can you possibly guess what my middle daughter chose from the prize box? Yup, a whistle. And can you possibly guess what she was doing with her whistle this morning while we're all trying to get ready?
And knowing that she probably won't be able to control her impulses, I asked her to only blow the whistle outside when she wasn't near anyone else, or it had to go in the garbage. As she headed off to the school bus with her siblings, I can only imagine what happened on the bus.
I really don't think they pay school bus drivers enough.
Welcome to the AFABC Interior Region Blog. Check back here often for resources, events, and discussions on contemporary adoption issues.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
Monday morning snow...
Where was this snow on the weekend so I could kick my kids outside to play in it? All we had this weekend was a muddy brown mess in our yard. And it seems most of it ended up in my entry way. I lost count of how many times I swept, washed, nagged about taking shoes off on the mat.
But we did have fun on Saturday in the snow up at the ski hill. It was one of those picture perfect days with lots of sunshine up there and it sure makes a difference in everyone's mood when we all get fresh air and exercise. Because frankly, if I had to listen to one more "I'm bored", I thought I would lose it! What am I, the social coordinator? NO, clearly I'm the cook, housekeeper and referee. I don't recall "social coordinator" being on the job description. (Speaking of a job description, I want it revised!)
And although I may complain about my job description, I have to say my kids are incredible assistants most of the time. For example when we go skiing, they always help load and unload everything and although that may not seem like much, it really helps me out. I "just" have to make sure everyone's gear is present and accounted for, pack the lunches and snacks, and make sure everything gets from the pile in the entry way in to the car, and reverse it all when we get home. And they rarely complain about it.
My daughter with FASD and diabetes has to be with either me or my husband all the time, and she's usually a pretty good helper. With all her food issues, she's the perfect candidate to put the groceries away (with supervision) after a trip to Costco. That way she gets to see all the food we've bought and decide well in advance of what her snack choices will be.
My son doesn't seem to mind endless trips up and down the stairs to restock toilet paper, get thing from or take things to the freezer, go back and turn lights off, as long as he can run and stomp on the stairs as loudly as possible.
My oldest daughter is usually the one who complains the most, but she is also the first one to start hauling all the ski equipment out and trudging it upstairs. She's also the one who will, without being asked, pick up the slack when she sees I'm getting frustrated with one of the other kids.
All in all, I have 3 great kids and I can't imagine my world without them. However, I can certainly imagine my world without their dirty laundry piles and dishes. But I guess that will have to wait until I win the lottery.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Please find below the links to the most recent CIC announcements related to the adoption of Haitian children:
1. Statement by The Honourable Jason Kenney, Minister of Citizenship, Immigration and Multiculturalism, about Haitian adoptions (January 20, 2010) —
http://www.cic.gc.ca/english/department/media/speeches/2010/2010-01-20.asp
2. Notice: Important information on priority processing measures in Haiti, including adoption —
http://www.cic.gc.ca/english/department/media/notices/notice-special.asp
Any new announcements will continue to be added to the CIC Web site at http://www.cic.gc.ca/english/haiti/index.asp.
Anyone interested in information about the adoption process in their province/territory of residence is encouraged to contact their respective provincial/territorial government. The links to those sites can be found at http://www.hrsdc.gc.ca/eng/community_partnerships/international_adoption/links/provincial_territorial.shtml.
Prospective adoptive parents who have not yet reached the immigration or citizenship process, or those who have a pending application with CIC and have not yet been contacted, should contact the CIC Call Centre to discuss their case at 1-888-242-2100 (in Canada only, from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. EST Monday through Friday) or by email at question-Haiti@cic.gc.ca.
http://www.cic.gc.ca/english/department/media/speeches/2010/2010-01-20.asp
2. Notice: Important information on priority processing measures in Haiti, including adoption —
http://www.cic.gc.ca/english/department/media/notices/notice-special.asp
Any new announcements will continue to be added to the CIC Web site at http://www.cic.gc.ca/english/haiti/index.asp.
Anyone interested in information about the adoption process in their province/territory of residence is encouraged to contact their respective provincial/territorial government. The links to those sites can be found at http://www.hrsdc.gc.ca/eng/community_partnerships/international_adoption/links/provincial_territorial.shtml.
Prospective adoptive parents who have not yet reached the immigration or citizenship process, or those who have a pending application with CIC and have not yet been contacted, should contact the CIC Call Centre to discuss their case at 1-888-242-2100 (in Canada only, from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. EST Monday through Friday) or by email at question-Haiti@cic.gc.ca.
Doing the hard work...
I was reading an article on addictions from the CrossRoads Website written by Jason McCarty Outpatient Therapist, and it reminded me of how as adoptive parents we have to "do the hard work" even when we wish we didn't have to.
Here's a quote from the article
"We talk quite often in the addiction treatment world of “doing the work”, and this really entails the examining, changing, and processing of one’s emotions, thoughts, behaviors, and relationships, to keep it simple. Doing the hard work sometimes is about being vulnerable enough to allow other human beings to help. Doing the hard work sometimes means exploring events of the past that continue to keep one stuck. Doing the hard work sometimes means deciding who one wants to be. Doing the hard work sometimes means taking medication. Doing the hard work sometimes means taking more responsibility for one’s life. Although I describe this as hard work, it can be, and usually is, very rewarding and transforming."
I don't know about you, but that definitely describes how I feel about parenting kids with special needs. Before I became a parent to kids with special needs I never thought I would have to ask others for help. I thought I would automatically know what to do, all the time, in all situations. I had to explore issues in my past that prevented me from seeing my kids for who they are, not who I wanted them to be. I had to decide if I wanted to be the parent who sat in a chair and yelled at her kids, or did I want to be the parent who got off her butt and was actually, physically there for her kids. I had to accept that perhaps medication would make my life, and my kids' lives better. I had to accept that although my life is not what I thought it was going to be, I have three wonderful kids that I would travel to the ends of the earth for, and do whatever it takes. And yes it is extremely difficult at times, and it can be very hard work. But my life has definitely been transformed and is very, very rewarding.
Here's a quote from the article
"We talk quite often in the addiction treatment world of “doing the work”, and this really entails the examining, changing, and processing of one’s emotions, thoughts, behaviors, and relationships, to keep it simple. Doing the hard work sometimes is about being vulnerable enough to allow other human beings to help. Doing the hard work sometimes means exploring events of the past that continue to keep one stuck. Doing the hard work sometimes means deciding who one wants to be. Doing the hard work sometimes means taking medication. Doing the hard work sometimes means taking more responsibility for one’s life. Although I describe this as hard work, it can be, and usually is, very rewarding and transforming."
I don't know about you, but that definitely describes how I feel about parenting kids with special needs. Before I became a parent to kids with special needs I never thought I would have to ask others for help. I thought I would automatically know what to do, all the time, in all situations. I had to explore issues in my past that prevented me from seeing my kids for who they are, not who I wanted them to be. I had to decide if I wanted to be the parent who sat in a chair and yelled at her kids, or did I want to be the parent who got off her butt and was actually, physically there for her kids. I had to accept that perhaps medication would make my life, and my kids' lives better. I had to accept that although my life is not what I thought it was going to be, I have three wonderful kids that I would travel to the ends of the earth for, and do whatever it takes. And yes it is extremely difficult at times, and it can be very hard work. But my life has definitely been transformed and is very, very rewarding.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Sooner or later, you will be able to laugh about it...
After my recent post about the trip up the ski hill, I started thinking about how I was smiling while blogging about it, and how although it wasn't the least bit funny at the time, it sure was when I wrote about it. I mean, really. It was funny.
But if I wasn't able to see the humor in it, and all the other crazy stuff that happens each day, I'd be locked away in the psych ward. (Although, I'll admit the 3 meals a day, group and individual therapy, and no responsibilites does sound somewhat appealing...)
But I digress...anyways, it reminded me of an article I had read by Pat O'Brien for PACT, An Adoption Alliance on using humor to help build attachment with our older kids. Here's a bit of the article...
"One of the most important ways to show your child you are neat is to share your imperfections. Let your child play with your vulnerabilities, telling your child about your most embarrassing moments and encouraging your child to share with you his or her most embarrassing moments. Kids feel imperfect about a lot of things; this is particularly true for new kids placed at older ages. Children appreciate an adult who can playfully make a fool out of everyday foibles, or an adult who can take a joke from a child, or an adult who will allow that child to play with their imperfections, or an adult who, after being accidentally embarrassed by a child, can laugh about it anyway.
One summer day, a co-worker, Liza, of mine brought her newly-adopted 8-year-old son Richie into the office because she was getting ready to go to a birthday party for herself after work. "Hey Liza, how old you gonna be?" I asked, knowing perfectly well she was approaching the 40-year mark. "It ain't none of your business!" Liza retorted. "Oh, come on, tell me!" "No way!" Then Richie jumped in, "Mr. Pat, I know how old Mommy's gonna be!" "Don't you dare tell him!" his mother threatened. Following his mother's instructions obediently, Richie said calmly, " Mommy's 22." "Well, okay, you tell him anything you want," says Mom, joining in everybody's laughter. Now, I'm wondering why he thinks his mother is 22. I figured we might get another little laugh out of discovering that his mom actually tells him she is 22. So I ask, "Hey Richie, how do you know your mom's 22?" Very innocently, Richie replies, "Because whenever I look in Mommy's dresses, they all say 22 in them." Did you ever try to hold in a laugh that needs to come out? Everyone in the office wanted to burst out laughing, but we all had to hold it in and look over to Liza first. When Liza started laughing, every one joined her in relief. It was one of those precious moments that Liza and Richie will be able to share forever. This potentially awkward situation turned into a attachment experience because Liza allowed it to do so."
I still laugh when I read this part. It's such a good reminder to keep a sense of humor.
Keep laughing.
But if I wasn't able to see the humor in it, and all the other crazy stuff that happens each day, I'd be locked away in the psych ward. (Although, I'll admit the 3 meals a day, group and individual therapy, and no responsibilites does sound somewhat appealing...)
But I digress...anyways, it reminded me of an article I had read by Pat O'Brien for PACT, An Adoption Alliance on using humor to help build attachment with our older kids. Here's a bit of the article...
"One of the most important ways to show your child you are neat is to share your imperfections. Let your child play with your vulnerabilities, telling your child about your most embarrassing moments and encouraging your child to share with you his or her most embarrassing moments. Kids feel imperfect about a lot of things; this is particularly true for new kids placed at older ages. Children appreciate an adult who can playfully make a fool out of everyday foibles, or an adult who can take a joke from a child, or an adult who will allow that child to play with their imperfections, or an adult who, after being accidentally embarrassed by a child, can laugh about it anyway.
One summer day, a co-worker, Liza, of mine brought her newly-adopted 8-year-old son Richie into the office because she was getting ready to go to a birthday party for herself after work. "Hey Liza, how old you gonna be?" I asked, knowing perfectly well she was approaching the 40-year mark. "It ain't none of your business!" Liza retorted. "Oh, come on, tell me!" "No way!" Then Richie jumped in, "Mr. Pat, I know how old Mommy's gonna be!" "Don't you dare tell him!" his mother threatened. Following his mother's instructions obediently, Richie said calmly, " Mommy's 22." "Well, okay, you tell him anything you want," says Mom, joining in everybody's laughter. Now, I'm wondering why he thinks his mother is 22. I figured we might get another little laugh out of discovering that his mom actually tells him she is 22. So I ask, "Hey Richie, how do you know your mom's 22?" Very innocently, Richie replies, "Because whenever I look in Mommy's dresses, they all say 22 in them." Did you ever try to hold in a laugh that needs to come out? Everyone in the office wanted to burst out laughing, but we all had to hold it in and look over to Liza first. When Liza started laughing, every one joined her in relief. It was one of those precious moments that Liza and Richie will be able to share forever. This potentially awkward situation turned into a attachment experience because Liza allowed it to do so."
I still laugh when I read this part. It's such a good reminder to keep a sense of humor.
Keep laughing.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
I wonder how it is for those other "normal" families...
You know those families. The ones you see who look like they all get along. The ones where the kids hold the parents hands and they kids are clean and dressed properly. They wear their underwear on the inside of their clothes. The kids' hair is combed. Sigh.
We're not one of those families. Our experience last night was just one example.
Our oldest daughter's French Immersion class was meeting up at the ski hill for an evening of tubing under the lights, hot chocolate, hot dogs, maple syrup in the snow, etc. A great family event. And we've been up the ski hill many times for skiing, so being dressed properly wasn't a problem. We had all the right snow gear. However on the 45 minute drive from our house, things started to go awry.
Our middle (FASD/ADHD) daughter's class had been given a talk that day at school on winter safety and each kid was given a whistle to attach to their winter coat in case they were ever lost. Who's brilliant idea was this?! Can you possibly guess what little miss FASD/ADHD decided to do during the car ride up the mountain? Yup, that is one loud whistle when you're trapped in a Honda Civic with 3 kids and a stressed out husband who would much rather be home watching the hockey game. And when I insisted she hand over the whistle, FASD/ADHD daughter insisted it wasn't her fault she blew it. I believe her exact words were "I didn't mean to!" Yeah, that whistle just jumped into your mouth.
The event itself was fun and despite having to constantly supervise near the maple syrup/snow station to make sure my son didn't have multiple servings, the evening went quite well. They all had fun, we got to visit with adults, and I didn't have to cook dinner.
So when it was time to leave, no one really complained. We headed to the car to get out of our snow gear and head home. My feet were frozen and I just wanted to get home to a hot bath. The meds had obviously worn off for ADHD son, and FASD/ADHD daughter. (Not a good sign - remember this is a 45 min. drive home.) My son is tangled in the overall straps of his snowpants and insisting his sister (who is already in the car) is giving him a wedgie. FASD/ADHD daughter has just noticed her socks are soaking wet, so I tell her to take her boots off when she gets in the car. And despite the multiple hot dogs they consumed, they're starving. Fortunately I packed lots of extra snacks, so after the usual battle of who has to sit in the middle is settled (rock/paper/scissors) we start heading down the hill.
FASD/ADHD daughter can't stop talking. Either that or humming to a completely different tune that what is playing on the radio. ADHD son is trying to play a game on his DS but FASD/ADHD daughter (who is in the middle) keeps "accidentally" bumping his arm with her bare feet. Meanwhile typical daughter is disgusted with both of them and every second sentance out of her mouth includes the word "stupid" or "dummy".
Then, FASD/ADHD daughter decides that her wet socks are things she should throw around the back seat hitting her siblings in the face. Repeatedly.
Typical daughter and FASD/ADHD daughter then get into a long argument about the lyrics to the latest song by Madonna, or was it Britney Spears? Who knows? Who cares?
By the time we pull into our driveway, I have had more than I can take. But does it end there? Of course not. It's then that I discover that the reason FASD/ADHD daughter has wet socks, is because she left her boots in the trunk of the car while she was getting out of her snow gear, and was walking around the car at the ski hill in her socks. No shoes, no boots.
ADHD son flips out because I ask him to bring his wet snow pants into the house, and because he needs two hands to carry all his stuff, that means he has to close his DS and he's in the middle of a game.
And all I can think of at this point is, get them to bed, and thank God for melatonin.
We're not one of those families. Our experience last night was just one example.
Our oldest daughter's French Immersion class was meeting up at the ski hill for an evening of tubing under the lights, hot chocolate, hot dogs, maple syrup in the snow, etc. A great family event. And we've been up the ski hill many times for skiing, so being dressed properly wasn't a problem. We had all the right snow gear. However on the 45 minute drive from our house, things started to go awry.
Our middle (FASD/ADHD) daughter's class had been given a talk that day at school on winter safety and each kid was given a whistle to attach to their winter coat in case they were ever lost. Who's brilliant idea was this?! Can you possibly guess what little miss FASD/ADHD decided to do during the car ride up the mountain? Yup, that is one loud whistle when you're trapped in a Honda Civic with 3 kids and a stressed out husband who would much rather be home watching the hockey game. And when I insisted she hand over the whistle, FASD/ADHD daughter insisted it wasn't her fault she blew it. I believe her exact words were "I didn't mean to!" Yeah, that whistle just jumped into your mouth.
The event itself was fun and despite having to constantly supervise near the maple syrup/snow station to make sure my son didn't have multiple servings, the evening went quite well. They all had fun, we got to visit with adults, and I didn't have to cook dinner.
So when it was time to leave, no one really complained. We headed to the car to get out of our snow gear and head home. My feet were frozen and I just wanted to get home to a hot bath. The meds had obviously worn off for ADHD son, and FASD/ADHD daughter. (Not a good sign - remember this is a 45 min. drive home.) My son is tangled in the overall straps of his snowpants and insisting his sister (who is already in the car) is giving him a wedgie. FASD/ADHD daughter has just noticed her socks are soaking wet, so I tell her to take her boots off when she gets in the car. And despite the multiple hot dogs they consumed, they're starving. Fortunately I packed lots of extra snacks, so after the usual battle of who has to sit in the middle is settled (rock/paper/scissors) we start heading down the hill.
FASD/ADHD daughter can't stop talking. Either that or humming to a completely different tune that what is playing on the radio. ADHD son is trying to play a game on his DS but FASD/ADHD daughter (who is in the middle) keeps "accidentally" bumping his arm with her bare feet. Meanwhile typical daughter is disgusted with both of them and every second sentance out of her mouth includes the word "stupid" or "dummy".
Then, FASD/ADHD daughter decides that her wet socks are things she should throw around the back seat hitting her siblings in the face. Repeatedly.
Typical daughter and FASD/ADHD daughter then get into a long argument about the lyrics to the latest song by Madonna, or was it Britney Spears? Who knows? Who cares?
By the time we pull into our driveway, I have had more than I can take. But does it end there? Of course not. It's then that I discover that the reason FASD/ADHD daughter has wet socks, is because she left her boots in the trunk of the car while she was getting out of her snow gear, and was walking around the car at the ski hill in her socks. No shoes, no boots.
ADHD son flips out because I ask him to bring his wet snow pants into the house, and because he needs two hands to carry all his stuff, that means he has to close his DS and he's in the middle of a game.
And all I can think of at this point is, get them to bed, and thank God for melatonin.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
An Invitation to Participate in a Study of:
Birth-Grandmother Experiences in Open Adoptions
What is the Purpose of the study?
Although open adoption is becoming increasingly common in BC adoptions and has shown many potential benefits to children, the impact of open adoption on all members of the adoption kinship network (AKN), including birth parents, extended family, adoptees and adoptive family, is only beginning to be understood. The goal of this project is to explore birth grandmother experiences of open adoption in order to learn more about the impact of open adoption relationships on families and how the adoption community can best support and educate families both pre and post adoption.
What’s involved?
• Two private interviews of approximately one to two hours
• Topics to be discussed:
-Your experiences as a birth grandmother
-Your relationships with your child/children, grandchild/grandchildren and the adoptive family
-Your description of your role in the adoptive family
-Your ideas about changes needed in adoption support
-You may decline to answer any questions
• The interview will be tape recorded and transcribed by a typist
• You will be given a copy of the interview transcript to edit
Who’s Invited?
• Birth grandmothers in direct contact with birth grandchildren and adoptive family.
What about confidentiality?
• Your identity will be kept strictly confidential
• Documents will be identified only by code number and kept in a locked filing cabinet; computer data will be password protected
• You will not be identified by name in reports of the study
Participation is voluntary. You can withdraw or refuse to participate without any jeopardy to your employment.
If you are interested in getting more information or participating, please contact:
Joanne Eaves, M. Ed, MSW Student
(604) 723-9227 or jeaves@shaw.ca
What is the Purpose of the study?
Although open adoption is becoming increasingly common in BC adoptions and has shown many potential benefits to children, the impact of open adoption on all members of the adoption kinship network (AKN), including birth parents, extended family, adoptees and adoptive family, is only beginning to be understood. The goal of this project is to explore birth grandmother experiences of open adoption in order to learn more about the impact of open adoption relationships on families and how the adoption community can best support and educate families both pre and post adoption.
What’s involved?
• Two private interviews of approximately one to two hours
• Topics to be discussed:
-Your experiences as a birth grandmother
-Your relationships with your child/children, grandchild/grandchildren and the adoptive family
-Your description of your role in the adoptive family
-Your ideas about changes needed in adoption support
-You may decline to answer any questions
• The interview will be tape recorded and transcribed by a typist
• You will be given a copy of the interview transcript to edit
Who’s Invited?
• Birth grandmothers in direct contact with birth grandchildren and adoptive family.
What about confidentiality?
• Your identity will be kept strictly confidential
• Documents will be identified only by code number and kept in a locked filing cabinet; computer data will be password protected
• You will not be identified by name in reports of the study
Participation is voluntary. You can withdraw or refuse to participate without any jeopardy to your employment.
If you are interested in getting more information or participating, please contact:
Joanne Eaves, M. Ed, MSW Student
(604) 723-9227 or jeaves@shaw.ca
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Get out the whistle and striped shirt...
Yup, it's time to referee.
In this corner we have a 9 year old boy, supposed to be in his pjs, teeth brushed, face washed, and reading.
And in this corner we have an 11 year old girl, supposed to be in her pjs, teeth brushed, face washed, and reading.
The rules of engagement are...there are no rules! It's fight to see who gets to hold the book that neither of them really want, but all that matters is that the other person does NOT get it.
Meanwhile, in the living room, my husband is watching the Canucks and is totally oblivious to any battle unless it's on the tv.
Meanwhile, downstairs in my office, all I hear above me is thumping, banging and crashing.
As I grab my whistle and striped shirt on the way to the main event, I hear a loud deep voice coming from the scene of the no-rules-fight. Yes fight fans, Dad has had to leave his recliner to separate the combatants.
As I make my way through the crowd of spectators (the dog, the cat and the other 11 year old) I see the 9 year old boy crying with a large scratch across his face. The crowd of spectators parts as the 11 year old combatant stomps out of the fight ring and into her own bedroom, screaming about the unfairness of the referee.
As the medic administers first aid to injured 9 year old, the referee launches into lecture number 347 (something to do with keeping your hands and feet to yourself).
The combatants contine to hurl insults at each other from their respective corners (bedrooms) vowing revenge at the first opportunity for a rematch.
The referee returns to the hockey game cursing under his breath, while the back-up referee administers melatonin.
Stay tuned for more excitement. This fight ain't over yet!
In this corner we have a 9 year old boy, supposed to be in his pjs, teeth brushed, face washed, and reading.
And in this corner we have an 11 year old girl, supposed to be in her pjs, teeth brushed, face washed, and reading.
The rules of engagement are...there are no rules! It's fight to see who gets to hold the book that neither of them really want, but all that matters is that the other person does NOT get it.
Meanwhile, in the living room, my husband is watching the Canucks and is totally oblivious to any battle unless it's on the tv.
Meanwhile, downstairs in my office, all I hear above me is thumping, banging and crashing.
As I grab my whistle and striped shirt on the way to the main event, I hear a loud deep voice coming from the scene of the no-rules-fight. Yes fight fans, Dad has had to leave his recliner to separate the combatants.
As I make my way through the crowd of spectators (the dog, the cat and the other 11 year old) I see the 9 year old boy crying with a large scratch across his face. The crowd of spectators parts as the 11 year old combatant stomps out of the fight ring and into her own bedroom, screaming about the unfairness of the referee.
As the medic administers first aid to injured 9 year old, the referee launches into lecture number 347 (something to do with keeping your hands and feet to yourself).
The combatants contine to hurl insults at each other from their respective corners (bedrooms) vowing revenge at the first opportunity for a rematch.
The referee returns to the hockey game cursing under his breath, while the back-up referee administers melatonin.
Stay tuned for more excitement. This fight ain't over yet!
Monday, January 11, 2010
I mean, how was your Christmas, really...
A friend asked me that today, and she's one of the few people I can actually tell the whole, bizarre truth to. I have to have those kind of people in my life, because not everyone "gets it". And if you've ever really, really struggled with parenting special needs kids, you know what I mean.
But I know I also need those other friends in my life too. Not everyone needs (or wants) to know all the gory details of my life, and frankly, I don't want to know theirs either. I have great friends. And a great variety of friends too. And I cherish them all, because they haven't abandoned me when I feel the need to cancel coffee dates or when I'm in a really really bad funk. I don't need to always be whining about my life, I'm quite content to listen to other people whine about theirs. Many times, it makes my whining seem inconsequential, and other times I know I would win in the "Battle of the Whines".
What do guys do? My husband seems to destress by watching the news and hockey. But he works with people all day long and really enjoys not having to talk to anyone else at the end of a stressful day. Me, I spend my work hours usually in front of my lap top in my home office, so I usually only talk to people on the phone during the day. (Or my cat...) Which, yes, can be somewhat isolating and I need to make more of an effort to get up off my butt and go meet a friend for coffee or make a movie date with a girlfriend.
I know I could easily end up being one of those old ladies with 99 cats who yells at the neighborhood kids as they walk by.
But I digress. One of the great things about my job with AFABC is the number of families that I get to meet and connect with. And some of those families have become good friends and I always look forward to AFABC social events to catch up with everyone.
I'm also a firm believer that people come in to our lives at certain times for certain reasons. And some of the women that I feel the closest to, are friends that I don't see on a regular basis, but we just pick up where we left off every time we meet. (Usually that involves wine or chocolate or some combination of the two!)
So, even though I never forward or return those emails from friends who want me to pass along the email to 10 friends saying what a great friend/woman they are, I still believe my girlfriends are what keep me sane! Thanks for being there.
But I know I also need those other friends in my life too. Not everyone needs (or wants) to know all the gory details of my life, and frankly, I don't want to know theirs either. I have great friends. And a great variety of friends too. And I cherish them all, because they haven't abandoned me when I feel the need to cancel coffee dates or when I'm in a really really bad funk. I don't need to always be whining about my life, I'm quite content to listen to other people whine about theirs. Many times, it makes my whining seem inconsequential, and other times I know I would win in the "Battle of the Whines".
What do guys do? My husband seems to destress by watching the news and hockey. But he works with people all day long and really enjoys not having to talk to anyone else at the end of a stressful day. Me, I spend my work hours usually in front of my lap top in my home office, so I usually only talk to people on the phone during the day. (Or my cat...) Which, yes, can be somewhat isolating and I need to make more of an effort to get up off my butt and go meet a friend for coffee or make a movie date with a girlfriend.
I know I could easily end up being one of those old ladies with 99 cats who yells at the neighborhood kids as they walk by.
But I digress. One of the great things about my job with AFABC is the number of families that I get to meet and connect with. And some of those families have become good friends and I always look forward to AFABC social events to catch up with everyone.
I'm also a firm believer that people come in to our lives at certain times for certain reasons. And some of the women that I feel the closest to, are friends that I don't see on a regular basis, but we just pick up where we left off every time we meet. (Usually that involves wine or chocolate or some combination of the two!)
So, even though I never forward or return those emails from friends who want me to pass along the email to 10 friends saying what a great friend/woman they are, I still believe my girlfriends are what keep me sane! Thanks for being there.
FASD Parents' Daily Dilemmas
FASD parents daily dilemmas by A McCormick
Its 6 AM, I'm exhausted in bed,
got to get up, before I see red.
3 FASD kids awake, making lots of din,
I stagger out of bed, face a big ‘fazzy’ grin.
They run up and down, full of energy and fun,
another chaotic day has just begun.
I gather my patience and count to 10,
only 18 more hours of supervision.
My head is weary, my limbs ache bad,
we do this 24/7, I must be mad!
Downstairs for breakfast, worst part of the day,
3 kids in ‘land zog’, brain can’t function away;
Lots of twitching n shouting, they’re out of control,
need firm parenting, strict routines on the whole.
A chemist shop of medication is given to all,
let’s hope it calms them, so my kids don’t fall.
The girls never stop talking, drivel in the main,
demanding attention, for their gain.
Its routine, supervision, attention, being firm,
forever I’m hopeful, their brain will learn.
To remember things to help keep them ok,
so I won’t need to nag them all each day.
It’s upstairs to wash, teeth and dress,
don’t look in their bedrooms, they’re a horrible mess!
Their memory refuses to let them learn,
wanting to be good, they so do yearn.
Requires total commitment to help these kids,
harder for us, we have 3 sibs.
The treadmill goes round, day after day,
bringing constant demands in every way.
They’re off to school, can I relax at best?
No, daily appointments; health, school and the rest.
Then it’s washing wet beds, cooking special diets for them,
repairing damage caused in their utter mayhem.
I’ve got a degree, once earned a lot,
no chance of returning, this is my ‘spot’
Can’t work anymore, as I care full time,
money is tight, almost breadline.
I use my skills to tell others “don’t drink,
when babe in utero, read FASAWARE link.”
A blink goes by, still feel drained;
kid’s home from school, medication has waned.
Teachers not happy, “they haven’t sat still,
distracted others, they haven’t been ‘brill’”.
Playing is hard; don’t know how to share,
fight with each other, don’t seem to care.
If you take them out, hold on real tight,
within a second, they’re out of sight.
Items of others, for them are a ‘gift’,
very able they are to quickly shoplift.
Immature, social skills, safety a low,
money, maths, time, causes them such a blow.
Able in fantasy, but cant keep themselves safe,
vulnerable for life, look like a waif;
Eat all day long, tummy unfilled,
hyperactive, demanding, and very strong willed.
No coke, gluten, chocolate or additives to eat,
big home cooked food, you cannot beat.
Over stimulation and excitement makes them high,
massive frustration tantrums, I could cry.
Talk non-stop ‘rubbish’, obsessive at times,
drives us nuts by this and their constant whines.
Square peg in a round hole, they so do feel,
too many corners has their wheel.
They see the world differently from you and I,
common sense ‘out the window’, ‘pie in the sky’!
If things don’t work, you need to change,
don’t try harder, use your skill range.
Creative in art, love music and dance,
if they could take turns, would have a good chance.
To excel in these areas, would raise self-esteem,
to compete with the rest, they’re so very keen.
Routine in the day, routine in the night,
a lifelong commitment, I have given my plight.
They can’t get to sleep, cry, fidget n pick,
singing at night, their energy makes me sick!
Sleeping is hard, they sleep so badly,
will swap with you, for respite so gladly.
I adore my 3 kids, I love them so dearly,
but going at this pace, without rest, makes me weary.
To advocate, supervise, fight for their rights,
makes me ill and on tablets…probably for life.
My kids are so loving, faithful and true,
rewarding to care for, I can assure you.
But I wish you could see how it is everyday,
the hardest job ever, in everyway.
To the inexperienced, they look ‘just right’;
misunderstand the demands of 3 and our plight,
Respite together, few others would cope,
leaving us isolated, tired and ready to mope.
FASD doesn’t fit with the ‘systems’ of respite,
leaving some needy, no help in sight.
Most FASD kids are cared for with dedication n love,
by others, who didn’t create them from above.
Parenting kids with FASD is different from most,
“techniques never work at all”, we boast.
Communication difficulties, misunderstood by many,
raise Child Protection issues? But there aren’t any!!!!
Sadly some ‘professionals’, may have unfair concerns,
greater understanding of FASD, they need to learn.
Understand our kids and get families supported;
a greater awareness will stop fingers being pointed.
Please help us to cope with these wonderful kids,
to re-energise our lives, or they’ll ‘blow our lids’,
We don’t have the luxury to relax and ‘turn off’,
just to sleep, watch TV, or even cough!
FASD is for life; its hard all the way,
help us to help kids, day after day.
Alison McCormick is the adoptive parent of three kids with FASD and is the coordinator of FASawareUK East.
Its 6 AM, I'm exhausted in bed,
got to get up, before I see red.
3 FASD kids awake, making lots of din,
I stagger out of bed, face a big ‘fazzy’ grin.
They run up and down, full of energy and fun,
another chaotic day has just begun.
I gather my patience and count to 10,
only 18 more hours of supervision.
My head is weary, my limbs ache bad,
we do this 24/7, I must be mad!
Downstairs for breakfast, worst part of the day,
3 kids in ‘land zog’, brain can’t function away;
Lots of twitching n shouting, they’re out of control,
need firm parenting, strict routines on the whole.
A chemist shop of medication is given to all,
let’s hope it calms them, so my kids don’t fall.
The girls never stop talking, drivel in the main,
demanding attention, for their gain.
Its routine, supervision, attention, being firm,
forever I’m hopeful, their brain will learn.
To remember things to help keep them ok,
so I won’t need to nag them all each day.
It’s upstairs to wash, teeth and dress,
don’t look in their bedrooms, they’re a horrible mess!
Their memory refuses to let them learn,
wanting to be good, they so do yearn.
Requires total commitment to help these kids,
harder for us, we have 3 sibs.
The treadmill goes round, day after day,
bringing constant demands in every way.
They’re off to school, can I relax at best?
No, daily appointments; health, school and the rest.
Then it’s washing wet beds, cooking special diets for them,
repairing damage caused in their utter mayhem.
I’ve got a degree, once earned a lot,
no chance of returning, this is my ‘spot’
Can’t work anymore, as I care full time,
money is tight, almost breadline.
I use my skills to tell others “don’t drink,
when babe in utero, read FASAWARE link.”
A blink goes by, still feel drained;
kid’s home from school, medication has waned.
Teachers not happy, “they haven’t sat still,
distracted others, they haven’t been ‘brill’”.
Playing is hard; don’t know how to share,
fight with each other, don’t seem to care.
If you take them out, hold on real tight,
within a second, they’re out of sight.
Items of others, for them are a ‘gift’,
very able they are to quickly shoplift.
Immature, social skills, safety a low,
money, maths, time, causes them such a blow.
Able in fantasy, but cant keep themselves safe,
vulnerable for life, look like a waif;
Eat all day long, tummy unfilled,
hyperactive, demanding, and very strong willed.
No coke, gluten, chocolate or additives to eat,
big home cooked food, you cannot beat.
Over stimulation and excitement makes them high,
massive frustration tantrums, I could cry.
Talk non-stop ‘rubbish’, obsessive at times,
drives us nuts by this and their constant whines.
Square peg in a round hole, they so do feel,
too many corners has their wheel.
They see the world differently from you and I,
common sense ‘out the window’, ‘pie in the sky’!
If things don’t work, you need to change,
don’t try harder, use your skill range.
Creative in art, love music and dance,
if they could take turns, would have a good chance.
To excel in these areas, would raise self-esteem,
to compete with the rest, they’re so very keen.
Routine in the day, routine in the night,
a lifelong commitment, I have given my plight.
They can’t get to sleep, cry, fidget n pick,
singing at night, their energy makes me sick!
Sleeping is hard, they sleep so badly,
will swap with you, for respite so gladly.
I adore my 3 kids, I love them so dearly,
but going at this pace, without rest, makes me weary.
To advocate, supervise, fight for their rights,
makes me ill and on tablets…probably for life.
My kids are so loving, faithful and true,
rewarding to care for, I can assure you.
But I wish you could see how it is everyday,
the hardest job ever, in everyway.
To the inexperienced, they look ‘just right’;
misunderstand the demands of 3 and our plight,
Respite together, few others would cope,
leaving us isolated, tired and ready to mope.
FASD doesn’t fit with the ‘systems’ of respite,
leaving some needy, no help in sight.
Most FASD kids are cared for with dedication n love,
by others, who didn’t create them from above.
Parenting kids with FASD is different from most,
“techniques never work at all”, we boast.
Communication difficulties, misunderstood by many,
raise Child Protection issues? But there aren’t any!!!!
Sadly some ‘professionals’, may have unfair concerns,
greater understanding of FASD, they need to learn.
Understand our kids and get families supported;
a greater awareness will stop fingers being pointed.
Please help us to cope with these wonderful kids,
to re-energise our lives, or they’ll ‘blow our lids’,
We don’t have the luxury to relax and ‘turn off’,
just to sleep, watch TV, or even cough!
FASD is for life; its hard all the way,
help us to help kids, day after day.
Alison McCormick is the adoptive parent of three kids with FASD and is the coordinator of FASawareUK East.
Friday, January 8, 2010
MYOB MYOB MYOB
Clearly this seems to be my daily mantra.
My most impulsive child just cannot let anything go without adding in her opinion. It doesn't matter that she wasn't asked for an opinion. It doesn't matter that it's nothing to do with her. It doesn't matter that I've already told her several times to "mind your own business". Nope. She has to comment.
And can you possibly imagine how well her siblings like to hear her opinion? So then that starts off another round of arguing. Then of course I have to intervene because MYOB daughter has an excellent talent for pushing her brother's and sister's buttons to try to get them in trouble for yelling at her. Because it's never HER fault.
And yet I know that MYOB daughter doesn't strategically plan for these events (at least I hope not), yet she never ever misses an opportunity to take advantage of one. (Gee, it would be so nice if she could put that much effort into her school work instead!) She can be totally oblivious to everything else that's going on around her, but if there's even the slightest hint of a conversation that she isn't a part of, she will make sure she voices her opinion.
And what's so annoying, is that even if I know she agrees with the who ever is speaking, she will still take the opportunity to insert the opposing opinion, even if it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever!
Fortunately my older daughter has developed the skills to not get caught up in her sister's drama, and chooses instead to roll her eyes and repeat my mantra of MYOB. However MYOB daughter has found her perfect opponent in her brother.
He's 18 months younger than her, but more advanced in many ways. However he is the poster child for ADHD and extremely sensitive. Even if I'm in the room and can hear the "discussion", he still will end up so mad at her, his face is bright red and his eyes are watering. I can intervene, tell him I heard everything and I know what his sister is doing, but he is so far gone by then, he stomps off and it takes quite awhile for him to calm down. And although my husband and I can talk to him then, explain what his sister is doing, give him some strategies for the next time (cause we all know there WILL be a next time) he still holds a grudge. And even hours later, at bedtime, he's still upset about what happened. But MYOB daughter has of course forgotten all about it by then, and is happy happy happy.
Sometimes I wish I had a happy happy happy place I could go to.
My most impulsive child just cannot let anything go without adding in her opinion. It doesn't matter that she wasn't asked for an opinion. It doesn't matter that it's nothing to do with her. It doesn't matter that I've already told her several times to "mind your own business". Nope. She has to comment.
And can you possibly imagine how well her siblings like to hear her opinion? So then that starts off another round of arguing. Then of course I have to intervene because MYOB daughter has an excellent talent for pushing her brother's and sister's buttons to try to get them in trouble for yelling at her. Because it's never HER fault.
And yet I know that MYOB daughter doesn't strategically plan for these events (at least I hope not), yet she never ever misses an opportunity to take advantage of one. (Gee, it would be so nice if she could put that much effort into her school work instead!) She can be totally oblivious to everything else that's going on around her, but if there's even the slightest hint of a conversation that she isn't a part of, she will make sure she voices her opinion.
And what's so annoying, is that even if I know she agrees with the who ever is speaking, she will still take the opportunity to insert the opposing opinion, even if it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever!
Fortunately my older daughter has developed the skills to not get caught up in her sister's drama, and chooses instead to roll her eyes and repeat my mantra of MYOB. However MYOB daughter has found her perfect opponent in her brother.
He's 18 months younger than her, but more advanced in many ways. However he is the poster child for ADHD and extremely sensitive. Even if I'm in the room and can hear the "discussion", he still will end up so mad at her, his face is bright red and his eyes are watering. I can intervene, tell him I heard everything and I know what his sister is doing, but he is so far gone by then, he stomps off and it takes quite awhile for him to calm down. And although my husband and I can talk to him then, explain what his sister is doing, give him some strategies for the next time (cause we all know there WILL be a next time) he still holds a grudge. And even hours later, at bedtime, he's still upset about what happened. But MYOB daughter has of course forgotten all about it by then, and is happy happy happy.
Sometimes I wish I had a happy happy happy place I could go to.
"Girdles, Laxatives and Respite"
I loved this article from the Attachment and Bonding Center of Ohio by Greg Keck on the topic of respite. I've heard the author speak on several different occasions, and he's very informative and entertaining.
Girdles, Laxatives, and Respite
Greg Keck, Ph.D. (Respite Revisited)
You're probably wondering just what these three things have in common and even more likely, you are questioning what they have to do with attachment! EXCESSIVE use of any of them may lead to further reliance upon them; in fact, on-going use may increase the need for them.
Respite, the obvious focus of this article, has become sacred in some corners-hailed as the very thing - perhaps the only thing that - keeps some placements together. That may very well be true, however, I think that we should take another look at respite via these questions:
*Is respite supposed to improve the child's capacity to attach to the family?
*Is the ultimate goal of respite to no longer need/want respite?
*What is the message that respite sends to the child about the family's
capacity to love, nurture, control, or manage the child?
*Does respite mimic or parallel the child's own approach/avoidance attachment responses?
*How is respite different than the child's experiences in multiple placements?
I would hope that the goal of any respite plan is to do more than give people a "break." These breaks may actually be further damaging to the attachment breaks the child has had; they may concretize the child's thinking that they only need to be able to function for short periods of time - then they can go elsewhere for another short period of time. Hopefully, one of the goals of respite should be related to enhancing the child's capacity for attachment as well as helping the family address the difficulties they face.
I assume that people would like to be with their children; I assume that parents want their kids to be fun to be with. And, I would hope that kids would like to be with their families. That is the purpose of adoption! Therefore, I think that the ultimate goal of respite ought to be the elimination of it-or at least-a reduction in the frequency of it.
While it's difficult to estimate just what message any child gets about anything, particularly if he or she is quite disturbed , I think that it is critical to attempt to evaluate this issue. If the child gets the idea that, they have to go to respite because the parents "CAN'T" handle anymore, that may be giving the child too much power. We need to remember that children/adolescents who have hurt so much in their early lives fear vulnerability; if the parents seem to be vulnerable, the child will have extreme difficulty ever attaching. Children with attachment difficulties will only identify with and attach to powerful images. After all, if the parents are too weak (in the child's view) to handle the child, how could they ever be counted on to protect him/her? Who would want to attach to someone who might not be able to protect (read: control, manage, love, nurture) them?
I do think that on-going use of respite parallels the child's own fragmented attachment responses. It seems to me that regularly scheduled respite allows and, perhaps, even promotes on-going dysfunction. If parents end-up feeling/thinking, "Oh well, at least she'll be gone for the weekend," they may also be accepting behaviors that they would not if they knew "the break" wasn't coming. They may avoid yet another conflict , just to "hang-in-there" for another day. The child's already well developed (although not healthy) temporal thinking patterns inevitably get reinforced; everyone working with individuals with attachment problems knows that yesterday was the distant past and tomorrow doesn't exist. Fragmentation in the child's life has led to this development, and I think that regular utilization of respite may perpetuate this kind of thinking pattern.
Continuity of environment helps to bring about continuity of thought which will lead to improved cause and effect thinking which evolves into conscience.
Respite should be different than a child's pre-adoptive experiences of moving around. Children/adolescents who have had child welfare experiences get accustomed to moving about. It, in a way, allows them to remain irresponsible and unaccountable in their current setting. After all," if I'm making bad choices today (Friday), I won't have too much to worry about because I'll be going to respite tonight!" And we all know that by Monday...Friday will be ancient history.
In closing, I wanted to write this to help us re-examine an assumption that I see developing. Parents and professionals frequently talk about just how important respite is. I agree that some families feel they could not exist without it. However, just like the girdles and laxatives in the title of this article, too much use of respite or unfocused use of it may prove to be habituating. Excessive use may further complicate what I believe that parents and professionals truly desire-children who I can attach to and live with them comfortably. Temporary relief may not be the solution to a permanent situation.
Before I hear myself misquoted -- as I frequently do -- let me say the following:
*I am not saying that a respite plan is NEVER helpful.
*I am not in a position to judge what/who other people can live with nor for how long at a stretch. Only families can decide that.
*I do think that respite is temporary relief which may become habit forming.
*I do think that the goals of any respite plan should include an attachment rationale.
*I do think that the ultimate goal of respite should be its elimination.
I hope that people will start to more carefully evaluate the issue of respite and not to simply accept what we keep hearing so much about. Remember, what is accepted practice now will probably be critically evaluated by others in the future. Once upon a time(not very long ago), foster parents were discouraged from allowing the infants in their care to attach to them; that was to be done later with an adoptive family. Now, how wrong was that?
Girdles, Laxatives, and Respite
Greg Keck, Ph.D. (Respite Revisited)
You're probably wondering just what these three things have in common and even more likely, you are questioning what they have to do with attachment! EXCESSIVE use of any of them may lead to further reliance upon them; in fact, on-going use may increase the need for them.
Respite, the obvious focus of this article, has become sacred in some corners-hailed as the very thing - perhaps the only thing that - keeps some placements together. That may very well be true, however, I think that we should take another look at respite via these questions:
*Is respite supposed to improve the child's capacity to attach to the family?
*Is the ultimate goal of respite to no longer need/want respite?
*What is the message that respite sends to the child about the family's
capacity to love, nurture, control, or manage the child?
*Does respite mimic or parallel the child's own approach/avoidance attachment responses?
*How is respite different than the child's experiences in multiple placements?
I would hope that the goal of any respite plan is to do more than give people a "break." These breaks may actually be further damaging to the attachment breaks the child has had; they may concretize the child's thinking that they only need to be able to function for short periods of time - then they can go elsewhere for another short period of time. Hopefully, one of the goals of respite should be related to enhancing the child's capacity for attachment as well as helping the family address the difficulties they face.
I assume that people would like to be with their children; I assume that parents want their kids to be fun to be with. And, I would hope that kids would like to be with their families. That is the purpose of adoption! Therefore, I think that the ultimate goal of respite ought to be the elimination of it-or at least-a reduction in the frequency of it.
While it's difficult to estimate just what message any child gets about anything, particularly if he or she is quite disturbed , I think that it is critical to attempt to evaluate this issue. If the child gets the idea that, they have to go to respite because the parents "CAN'T" handle anymore, that may be giving the child too much power. We need to remember that children/adolescents who have hurt so much in their early lives fear vulnerability; if the parents seem to be vulnerable, the child will have extreme difficulty ever attaching. Children with attachment difficulties will only identify with and attach to powerful images. After all, if the parents are too weak (in the child's view) to handle the child, how could they ever be counted on to protect him/her? Who would want to attach to someone who might not be able to protect (read: control, manage, love, nurture) them?
I do think that on-going use of respite parallels the child's own fragmented attachment responses. It seems to me that regularly scheduled respite allows and, perhaps, even promotes on-going dysfunction. If parents end-up feeling/thinking, "Oh well, at least she'll be gone for the weekend," they may also be accepting behaviors that they would not if they knew "the break" wasn't coming. They may avoid yet another conflict , just to "hang-in-there" for another day. The child's already well developed (although not healthy) temporal thinking patterns inevitably get reinforced; everyone working with individuals with attachment problems knows that yesterday was the distant past and tomorrow doesn't exist. Fragmentation in the child's life has led to this development, and I think that regular utilization of respite may perpetuate this kind of thinking pattern.
Continuity of environment helps to bring about continuity of thought which will lead to improved cause and effect thinking which evolves into conscience.
Respite should be different than a child's pre-adoptive experiences of moving around. Children/adolescents who have had child welfare experiences get accustomed to moving about. It, in a way, allows them to remain irresponsible and unaccountable in their current setting. After all," if I'm making bad choices today (Friday), I won't have too much to worry about because I'll be going to respite tonight!" And we all know that by Monday...Friday will be ancient history.
In closing, I wanted to write this to help us re-examine an assumption that I see developing. Parents and professionals frequently talk about just how important respite is. I agree that some families feel they could not exist without it. However, just like the girdles and laxatives in the title of this article, too much use of respite or unfocused use of it may prove to be habituating. Excessive use may further complicate what I believe that parents and professionals truly desire-children who I can attach to and live with them comfortably. Temporary relief may not be the solution to a permanent situation.
Before I hear myself misquoted -- as I frequently do -- let me say the following:
*I am not saying that a respite plan is NEVER helpful.
*I am not in a position to judge what/who other people can live with nor for how long at a stretch. Only families can decide that.
*I do think that respite is temporary relief which may become habit forming.
*I do think that the goals of any respite plan should include an attachment rationale.
*I do think that the ultimate goal of respite should be its elimination.
I hope that people will start to more carefully evaluate the issue of respite and not to simply accept what we keep hearing so much about. Remember, what is accepted practice now will probably be critically evaluated by others in the future. Once upon a time(not very long ago), foster parents were discouraged from allowing the infants in their care to attach to them; that was to be done later with an adoptive family. Now, how wrong was that?
Thursday, January 7, 2010
"Taunting Nightmare"
Every once in awhile I like to read these personal stories. They speak volumes.
Taunting Nightmare
from Winter 2007 Adoptalk NACAC
by Nichole Johnson
Nichole, who is a junior in high school, was adopted at age nine. Now 16, she dreams of becoming a teacher, but is still haunted by memories of her past.
I was only three when I was taken from my birth mother. The day it happened was an incredible journey that now, at 16, I can remember as clear as glass.
My little brother and I lived in a small beaten-up trailer with a front “lawn” consisting of rocks, dirt, and a few scattered toys. On this day, inside the darkening trailer, my brother and I had wrapped ourselves in tobacco-stained blankets to try and stay warm. He was curled up next to me on the bed.
Mom had left around noon while it was still bright out, and had turned off the heat—maybe for safety or to save money. The rustling and rattling of poorly taped windows accompanied a draft of cold air that raised the hair on my back and arms.
Thoughts rushed through my head. I wondered where Mom was and why she was always gone. My stomach knotted and my eyes grew blurry as I thought about how, when she was home, my mom was always mad, always yelling, “I hate you! You’re worthless! No one would ever love you, especially when you do things wrong!” The smell of alcohol on her breath made my empty stomach feel sick.
I never knew why my mom was always so mad. I tried to do the right thing; I took care of my brother, tried to make meals for us, and kept us as clean as possible. Nothing was ever good enough for her.
I thought about she fought with her boyfriends and how, trembling with fear, I would hide my brother in the corner while bottles smashed against the wall sending red, brown, and yellow glass cascading to the floor. I recalled the screaming voices, often directed at me, the punching, the crying, and more yelling.
One time an ex-boyfriend stabbed my mom in the arm. That night, for trying to help her, he locked me—in only a nightgown and socks—outside all night. That boyfriend often locked me outside for “time outs,” but not usually for that long.
On this night, as my brother slept, tears fell from my eyes like a heavy rain. Gazing through the speckled glass at the rain out-side, I wished someone who loved me was there to hold me and keep me warm. Then the water reminded me of the time a drunk babysitter forced me into a bathtub and held my head underwater until I passed out.
Two headlights interrupted my thoughts. A burst of joy warmed me. I was not alone with my brother anymore. Soon a second set of headlights cut through the night and then blue flashing lights. Maybe it was one of my mom’s boyfriends, I thought. Maybe it was my mom. I gave my brother a few gentle pushes to wake him, even though Mom never came home this early. It was usually morning when she stumbled in and passed out.
My brother and I crawled out of bed and followed the short route to the kitchen and living room. The cold plastic floor under my feet sent goose bumps up my legs. As we shuffled forward, I noticed strange shadows in the kitchen, and lights darting here and there like someone was looking for something. The hair on my back stood up. Something was not right.
The happy feeling became a boulder in my stomach when I heard strange voices outside. A man came to the door and shined his light through the taped glass—glass broken when one of Mom’s boyfriends shoved her into it. When he called out, “Hello?” I grabbed my brother and hid under the kitchen table. My heart was racing like it would jump out of my body.
The man knocked again. “Hello? Is anyone there?” he asked more loudly. A beam of light hit the spot where we were crouching, and I started to cry. I was terrified and felt completely helpless. I wanted my mom; I wanted someone to comfort and protect us.
“I see something,” said the man to his partner. Both men, one stout and the other slender, started to come in. My body froze. Once inside, the men walked over to us, talked briefly to each other, and then told my brother and me that everything was going to be okay. They said we were safe now.
“Safe now?” I asked myself. What did they mean? Was my mom home? Why were these strangers in our trailer?
As the stout man moved to pick me up, I began to sob. He repeated that everything was okay and that he wasn’t going to hurt me. I let him lift me. He wrapped me in a cozy new blanket that smelled nothing like our blankets. The other man picked up my brother. Then they carried us to the car. What were they going to do to us? Had Mom sent them?
The outside air was cold. I remember seeing the men’s breath clouding the air as they talked to each other, shaking their heads. As they opened the car doors and put us inside, I was still crying, but soon I felt how warm it was and noticed how clean the seats were. The stout man told us again that we were safe.
The thin man put a note on our front door, and then got into his car. The stout man climbed into the car with my brother and me. As the car engines roared to life, I felt a rush of panic rising in me. What did the note say? Where was my mom? I wanted to yell, “Help!” but the word was stuck in my throat. I was too afraid to say anything.
The heat in the car fogged up the windows as we drove away so I cleared a spot on my window to look back at my home. The cold moisture made my hand feel numb, like my heart. I looked over at my brother. He had instantly fallen asleep. My tears dried, and in the warmth of the blanket, my eyes grew heavy. Still anxious, I tried to stay awake, but soon I drifted to sleep in the darkness.
More than a dozen years later, I am still haunted by these memories and problems caused by the neglect and abuse I suffered. My mom hurt me badly, as did babysitters and boyfriends. They also taught me how easily phrases like “I hate you” can wound people emotionally, and that injuries from physical abuse hurt on the inside long after the marks fade.
The night I was taken from the person I loved so much is like a vivid nightmare I can’t forget. But I know now that the abuse was my mom’s fault, not mine. Therapists and my adoptive parents have helped me to understand these truths.
Still, that night in the trailer has left a permanent scar on my heart. More than anything, I wanted my mom to be there, to fight to keep me, to save me. But that never happened. The thought of it haunts my dreams day and night.
Taunting Nightmare
from Winter 2007 Adoptalk NACAC
by Nichole Johnson
Nichole, who is a junior in high school, was adopted at age nine. Now 16, she dreams of becoming a teacher, but is still haunted by memories of her past.
I was only three when I was taken from my birth mother. The day it happened was an incredible journey that now, at 16, I can remember as clear as glass.
My little brother and I lived in a small beaten-up trailer with a front “lawn” consisting of rocks, dirt, and a few scattered toys. On this day, inside the darkening trailer, my brother and I had wrapped ourselves in tobacco-stained blankets to try and stay warm. He was curled up next to me on the bed.
Mom had left around noon while it was still bright out, and had turned off the heat—maybe for safety or to save money. The rustling and rattling of poorly taped windows accompanied a draft of cold air that raised the hair on my back and arms.
Thoughts rushed through my head. I wondered where Mom was and why she was always gone. My stomach knotted and my eyes grew blurry as I thought about how, when she was home, my mom was always mad, always yelling, “I hate you! You’re worthless! No one would ever love you, especially when you do things wrong!” The smell of alcohol on her breath made my empty stomach feel sick.
I never knew why my mom was always so mad. I tried to do the right thing; I took care of my brother, tried to make meals for us, and kept us as clean as possible. Nothing was ever good enough for her.
I thought about she fought with her boyfriends and how, trembling with fear, I would hide my brother in the corner while bottles smashed against the wall sending red, brown, and yellow glass cascading to the floor. I recalled the screaming voices, often directed at me, the punching, the crying, and more yelling.
One time an ex-boyfriend stabbed my mom in the arm. That night, for trying to help her, he locked me—in only a nightgown and socks—outside all night. That boyfriend often locked me outside for “time outs,” but not usually for that long.
On this night, as my brother slept, tears fell from my eyes like a heavy rain. Gazing through the speckled glass at the rain out-side, I wished someone who loved me was there to hold me and keep me warm. Then the water reminded me of the time a drunk babysitter forced me into a bathtub and held my head underwater until I passed out.
Two headlights interrupted my thoughts. A burst of joy warmed me. I was not alone with my brother anymore. Soon a second set of headlights cut through the night and then blue flashing lights. Maybe it was one of my mom’s boyfriends, I thought. Maybe it was my mom. I gave my brother a few gentle pushes to wake him, even though Mom never came home this early. It was usually morning when she stumbled in and passed out.
My brother and I crawled out of bed and followed the short route to the kitchen and living room. The cold plastic floor under my feet sent goose bumps up my legs. As we shuffled forward, I noticed strange shadows in the kitchen, and lights darting here and there like someone was looking for something. The hair on my back stood up. Something was not right.
The happy feeling became a boulder in my stomach when I heard strange voices outside. A man came to the door and shined his light through the taped glass—glass broken when one of Mom’s boyfriends shoved her into it. When he called out, “Hello?” I grabbed my brother and hid under the kitchen table. My heart was racing like it would jump out of my body.
The man knocked again. “Hello? Is anyone there?” he asked more loudly. A beam of light hit the spot where we were crouching, and I started to cry. I was terrified and felt completely helpless. I wanted my mom; I wanted someone to comfort and protect us.
“I see something,” said the man to his partner. Both men, one stout and the other slender, started to come in. My body froze. Once inside, the men walked over to us, talked briefly to each other, and then told my brother and me that everything was going to be okay. They said we were safe now.
“Safe now?” I asked myself. What did they mean? Was my mom home? Why were these strangers in our trailer?
As the stout man moved to pick me up, I began to sob. He repeated that everything was okay and that he wasn’t going to hurt me. I let him lift me. He wrapped me in a cozy new blanket that smelled nothing like our blankets. The other man picked up my brother. Then they carried us to the car. What were they going to do to us? Had Mom sent them?
The outside air was cold. I remember seeing the men’s breath clouding the air as they talked to each other, shaking their heads. As they opened the car doors and put us inside, I was still crying, but soon I felt how warm it was and noticed how clean the seats were. The stout man told us again that we were safe.
The thin man put a note on our front door, and then got into his car. The stout man climbed into the car with my brother and me. As the car engines roared to life, I felt a rush of panic rising in me. What did the note say? Where was my mom? I wanted to yell, “Help!” but the word was stuck in my throat. I was too afraid to say anything.
The heat in the car fogged up the windows as we drove away so I cleared a spot on my window to look back at my home. The cold moisture made my hand feel numb, like my heart. I looked over at my brother. He had instantly fallen asleep. My tears dried, and in the warmth of the blanket, my eyes grew heavy. Still anxious, I tried to stay awake, but soon I drifted to sleep in the darkness.
More than a dozen years later, I am still haunted by these memories and problems caused by the neglect and abuse I suffered. My mom hurt me badly, as did babysitters and boyfriends. They also taught me how easily phrases like “I hate you” can wound people emotionally, and that injuries from physical abuse hurt on the inside long after the marks fade.
The night I was taken from the person I loved so much is like a vivid nightmare I can’t forget. But I know now that the abuse was my mom’s fault, not mine. Therapists and my adoptive parents have helped me to understand these truths.
Still, that night in the trailer has left a permanent scar on my heart. More than anything, I wanted my mom to be there, to fight to keep me, to save me. But that never happened. The thought of it haunts my dreams day and night.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
ADHD/environment/genetics
Have you ever noticed that you and your siblings remember the same childhood events differently? Perhaps a Christmas that you got a much wanted toy allows you to remember that specific Christmas as fun. Meanwhile perhaps your sibling didn't get the toy they wanted and spent the day sulking. (Although I never did get my Easy Bake Oven that I always asked Santa for, I did get the hair dressing doll head that almost made up for it.)
What made me think of this, was a section I was recently reading in Gabor Mate's "Scattered" book about ADD. Although the book was published in 1999 and some of the info is quite dated, it's still an interesting read. He explains how some siblings can share the same home environment, it's the "emotional atmosphere during the critical early years of brain development that most profoundly shapes the human personality."
He uses the example of Gary Gilmour, a convicted double murderer who was executed by firing squad in Utah in 1978. Gary's younger brother Mikal was born when Gary was 11, at a time when the family was enjoying a period of relative stability, is quoted as saying "The family I grew up in ws not the family my brothers grew up in. They grew up in a family that was on the road constantly, never in the same place longer than a couple of months at best. They grew up in a family where they watched the father beat the mother regularly, battering her face until it was a mortified blue knot. They grew up in a family where they were slapped and pummelled and belittled for paltry affronts...I grew up in a world so different from that of my brothers, I may as well have grown up under a different surname."
Gabor Mate goes on to explain more variables that will influence a child's brain structures and circuits. Such as birth order, the parents' economical situation may be better around the time of one child's birth than another's, and then of course there is the adoption component.
Adoption means that the child has been separated from their birth mother's body, voice, heartbeat etc. someetimes right at birth. We now are starting to realize how devastating this is to the infant. And for those infants who are then placed with different caregivers until their adoptions, the trauma they experience can be very significant. And if the birth mom is at all stressed, the cortisol that is released directly affects the nervous system of the infant. If our newborns are withdrawing from drugs or have been affected by alcohol in-utero they will typically be extremely sensitive to touch, lights and sounds, while others may be relatively insensitive to their environments.
My point, and I do have one, is that as adopted parents, we shouldn't be the least bit surprised when our adopted children are at a high risk for psychological problems in general, ADD/ADHD in particular.
It was great for me to read some of Gabor's book again and refresh my knowledge of ADHD, especially now that my 9 year old is struggling so much in school with his ADHD, FASD, etc. It's always interesting to me how I can re-read things when my kids are at different ages and stages from when I first read the item, and how much I keep learning by doing this.
What made me think of this, was a section I was recently reading in Gabor Mate's "Scattered" book about ADD. Although the book was published in 1999 and some of the info is quite dated, it's still an interesting read. He explains how some siblings can share the same home environment, it's the "emotional atmosphere during the critical early years of brain development that most profoundly shapes the human personality."
He uses the example of Gary Gilmour, a convicted double murderer who was executed by firing squad in Utah in 1978. Gary's younger brother Mikal was born when Gary was 11, at a time when the family was enjoying a period of relative stability, is quoted as saying "The family I grew up in ws not the family my brothers grew up in. They grew up in a family that was on the road constantly, never in the same place longer than a couple of months at best. They grew up in a family where they watched the father beat the mother regularly, battering her face until it was a mortified blue knot. They grew up in a family where they were slapped and pummelled and belittled for paltry affronts...I grew up in a world so different from that of my brothers, I may as well have grown up under a different surname."
Gabor Mate goes on to explain more variables that will influence a child's brain structures and circuits. Such as birth order, the parents' economical situation may be better around the time of one child's birth than another's, and then of course there is the adoption component.
Adoption means that the child has been separated from their birth mother's body, voice, heartbeat etc. someetimes right at birth. We now are starting to realize how devastating this is to the infant. And for those infants who are then placed with different caregivers until their adoptions, the trauma they experience can be very significant. And if the birth mom is at all stressed, the cortisol that is released directly affects the nervous system of the infant. If our newborns are withdrawing from drugs or have been affected by alcohol in-utero they will typically be extremely sensitive to touch, lights and sounds, while others may be relatively insensitive to their environments.
My point, and I do have one, is that as adopted parents, we shouldn't be the least bit surprised when our adopted children are at a high risk for psychological problems in general, ADD/ADHD in particular.
It was great for me to read some of Gabor's book again and refresh my knowledge of ADHD, especially now that my 9 year old is struggling so much in school with his ADHD, FASD, etc. It's always interesting to me how I can re-read things when my kids are at different ages and stages from when I first read the item, and how much I keep learning by doing this.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Stories Change Lives...
I received this email from Janice Otremba who is the FASD Parent to Parent Support Worker in Kamloops, and I thought I would post this info in case anyone is interested. You don't have to live in Kamloops to participate.
We invite you to join us in a project that will offer needed support for all families living with a child with mental health challenges.
We would like to hear from you about how the mental health challenges of your child or youth has had an impact on you or your family.
Your stories will provide the foundation to create programming based on real needs – your needs.
The F.O.R.C.E is a provincial family organization that advocates, engages, educates and supports families for child and youth mental health. We are spearheading this project and have joined forces with an experienced interviewer to assist us.
Cindy Willick is an international educator and certified coach who helps people use the power of their stories to inspire others, influence change and deepen personal and professional relationships.
Together, we will be seeking your time and your stories on the personal and family impacts, both good and bad, that you have experienced with your child or youth with mental health challenges.
Your stories will guide the development of educational training and a book on personal and family impacts from mental health challenges.
Please email us at theforce@bckidsmentalhealth.org before January 12
Interviews will take approximately 1.5 hours or less and will be conducted in a setting of your choice, or by phone. if you wish to share your story.
Anonymity is assured.
Sharing your stories will make a difference.
Thank you
We invite you to join us in a project that will offer needed support for all families living with a child with mental health challenges.
We would like to hear from you about how the mental health challenges of your child or youth has had an impact on you or your family.
Your stories will provide the foundation to create programming based on real needs – your needs.
The F.O.R.C.E is a provincial family organization that advocates, engages, educates and supports families for child and youth mental health. We are spearheading this project and have joined forces with an experienced interviewer to assist us.
Cindy Willick is an international educator and certified coach who helps people use the power of their stories to inspire others, influence change and deepen personal and professional relationships.
Together, we will be seeking your time and your stories on the personal and family impacts, both good and bad, that you have experienced with your child or youth with mental health challenges.
Your stories will guide the development of educational training and a book on personal and family impacts from mental health challenges.
Please email us at theforce@bckidsmentalhealth.org before January 12
Interviews will take approximately 1.5 hours or less and will be conducted in a setting of your choice, or by phone. if you wish to share your story.
Anonymity is assured.
Sharing your stories will make a difference.
Thank you
Monday, January 4, 2010
Choosing my battles...(again)
How do you know which battles are the ones worth fighting? Usually I'm pretty good at determining which ones to fight when it comes to those within my own household. But now there's a battle which I must face everyday (literally!) and I'm not sure I have the fight in me. Not because it doesn't matter, cause it very much does. But more so because of the futility of the fight. And that I already have many other battles, big and small, that need my attention on a regular basis.
So what is that battle you ask? Well, recently new people bought the property below ours and have turned a nice looking piece of rural property into an industrial area complete with at least 16 vehicles including construction equipment, bulldozers, dump trucks, storage containers, etc. Yes, that is enough of an eyesore on it's own considering it is also in violation of the zoning bylaw, and I have already filed my official complaint with the city bylaw enforcement officer.
But what is really alarming, and what we look at every single day, is their full size Confederate flag that flys high enough to be seen clearly from our kitchen, eating area, and living room windows. And assuming the weather gets better, will be front and centre in our back yard.
Now if I'm not mistaken, the Confederate flag represents the "South" in the American Civil War who lost the battle to keep slavery alive and well. Am I wrong about this? Please tell me I'm wrong.
We've considered talking to the new property owners about the flag, but my "mole" at the City Hall office told me who is leasing that property (and also gave me the head's up that the bylaw enforcement officer is close to retirement so don't expect any big changes with the industrialization of the property). And, guess what? The guy who owns all the equipment is the brother of one of the largest drug dealers in the region. Oh yea! Yeah, that really doesn't make me want to take a stand on this particular issue.
In a perfect world, I (or rather I would make my husband do it)would speak to this neighbor and explain my reasons for politely requesting him to remove his offensive material, he would apologize for not realizing the errors of his ways, and would immediately take down the flag. Probably not going to happen. Any of it. Since I know who he is, and I had the pleasure of going through school with his brother who spent time incarcerated in a Texas prison for a violent crime or two, I don't think I'll choose to fight this battle. Yes I've been intimidated. Yes, in a perfect world my little imaginary scenario above would happen. But then it's not a perfect world is it.
So for now, until an opportunity presents itself that seems do-able with minimal fallout, I'll guess I'll have to continue to hope the winds batter the flag into shreds.
What would you do?
So what is that battle you ask? Well, recently new people bought the property below ours and have turned a nice looking piece of rural property into an industrial area complete with at least 16 vehicles including construction equipment, bulldozers, dump trucks, storage containers, etc. Yes, that is enough of an eyesore on it's own considering it is also in violation of the zoning bylaw, and I have already filed my official complaint with the city bylaw enforcement officer.
But what is really alarming, and what we look at every single day, is their full size Confederate flag that flys high enough to be seen clearly from our kitchen, eating area, and living room windows. And assuming the weather gets better, will be front and centre in our back yard.
Now if I'm not mistaken, the Confederate flag represents the "South" in the American Civil War who lost the battle to keep slavery alive and well. Am I wrong about this? Please tell me I'm wrong.
We've considered talking to the new property owners about the flag, but my "mole" at the City Hall office told me who is leasing that property (and also gave me the head's up that the bylaw enforcement officer is close to retirement so don't expect any big changes with the industrialization of the property). And, guess what? The guy who owns all the equipment is the brother of one of the largest drug dealers in the region. Oh yea! Yeah, that really doesn't make me want to take a stand on this particular issue.
In a perfect world, I (or rather I would make my husband do it)would speak to this neighbor and explain my reasons for politely requesting him to remove his offensive material, he would apologize for not realizing the errors of his ways, and would immediately take down the flag. Probably not going to happen. Any of it. Since I know who he is, and I had the pleasure of going through school with his brother who spent time incarcerated in a Texas prison for a violent crime or two, I don't think I'll choose to fight this battle. Yes I've been intimidated. Yes, in a perfect world my little imaginary scenario above would happen. But then it's not a perfect world is it.
So for now, until an opportunity presents itself that seems do-able with minimal fallout, I'll guess I'll have to continue to hope the winds batter the flag into shreds.
What would you do?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)