“I love you when you’re good. I love you when you’re bad. I love you when you’re happy. I love you when you’re sad. I love you when you’re angry. I love you when you’re mad. No matter what you do, I love you!”

We’ve been saying this to the girls for the past few months and it’s turned out to be a  really important thing to do. We usually say it to them when they are crying, frustrated, angry, scared, or throwing the tantrum of the year. It’s been very clear to us that their shame is deeply rooted, especially for Monica. Whenever they do something wrong or bad and get in trouble or disappoint us, it’s as if the world has ended and all happiness is lost. (Actually, Kelly usually just lets things roll off her back which is such a gift for her.) So we reassure them that we love them. Forever. No matter what.

I think it’s finally beginning to settle in. They’re starting to get it. Monica comes to us for hugs now more often than having a tantrum. Kelly has started toting her baby dolls around and repeating the mantra to them. All healthy signs that the girls are beginning to believe that yes, we really do love them, no matter what!

And let’s face it, at the beginning, we needed to hear it too. Because when you’re in the midst of watching your new daughter have a very scary tantrum, saying and hearing the words “I love you no matter what,” remind you that love is  a commitment, not just a feeling.

We read a thousand books on adoption.

Actually, let me be honest. Renee and Kristen read a 1000 books on adoption and then pointed me to the ones that were worthy. Those still seemed to number quite high, but I didn’t pull as much weight in the research department as my wife did.

Some of the books are gold with solid, practical advice¹. As well as a good amount of warning. I feel like we went into this experience with our eyes at least 1/2 open.

But, at this point in the game, bits and pieces blur together a bit. In one book I remember the author talking about regression or reversion. I’m remembering it defined in two slightly different ways.

The first way is when your 4 (or 10) year old child may start acting like they’re 2. They may suddenly go through a “terrible twos” stage. Ditch some of their emotional control. Suddenly need pullups again because they can’t make it through the day without having an accident. Want to be cradled like a baby, fed like a baby, talked to like a baby.

The books generally point out that this is a good thing. Your kids are able to go through those stages in a healthy, safe environment. Often times they speed through it quickly, helping to build the bond with their new parents.

The second way is sort of the “2 steps forward, 1 step back” regression. Things might be going incredibly well, your kids growing and maturing with their new family. And then you hit a period of time where it’s like you’re starting over with the first month.

Kelly is having a regression week.

As adoptive parents, Renee and I know that you have these weeks. Fact of life. Indeed, I suspect parents see this happen just as often with their biological kidos. So I think we’re doing a pretty good job of taking it in stride. We’re communicating well, tag teaming.

But it’s tough. I think, somewhere in Kelly Jo’s mind, she’s freaking out about loosing control. This is a very normal thing for adoptive kids and very understandable. I bet most adoptive parents (especially of older children) spend a majority of their time working with their sons and daughters trying to get them to understand that they can be, well, kids again and let their parents do the heavy lifting.

And, of course, we worry. We wonder what we did to trigger this stage? Is this particular set of parenting tools the right one?

In addition to loss of control, we think that Kelly is mourning. Today in the car she said this:

“Mommy, I’m sad.”

Renee said, “Oh, I’m sorry you’re sad.”

“Because Mariana y Nano….” (Mariana and Nano were, we think, foster siblings.)

Then, in a genuinely confused voice, she asked, “Mommy, why am I sad?”

“Because you lived with them for a long time. And you had to say goodbye. And you loved them. And you miss them.”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m sad.”

We see behaviors and actions. We see emotions run across her face. We see tears and hear wailing. We listen to shrieks and laughter. Yet I’m not sure how much understanding we see. She’s four going on three and trying to make sense of a new life.

This is hard.

____

¹ For those interested, in no particular order, we’ve found the following books to be most helpful:

1. The Connected Child
2. Parenting the Hurt Child
3. Adopting the Hurt Child
4. Parenting with Love and Logic
5. When a Stranger Calls You Mom

What Kelly calls her flip-flops

BTW, I had a horrible mom moment about 2 weeks ago when I took the girls to Pay-Less and the manager offered to measure their feet. Turns out Monica was wearing 2 sizes too small and Kelly was wearing 2 1/2 sizes too small! Who knew that kids’ feet grow so darn fast. I’m on the fast track learning curve, but apparently it’s not fast enough for some things. Here are Kelly’s shoes, from one day to the next . . .

How many adoptive parents grow melancholy when their children’s first language disappears?

I’ve tried to keep up with the Spanish with the girls. I talk with them every day, hold conversations, use many nouns and verbs. And, while they still understand me, the do not respond in Spanish.

At first I thought this was a choice. New family, new country, new language…they just wanted to fit.

But earlier this week I had a conversation with Kelly that went like this:

“Kelly, en Espanol, como se llama este parte del cuerpo?” and I pointed to my nose.

“Nose.”

“No sweetheart, en Espanol.” She looked really confused.

“Nose.”

“No, that’s in English. In Spanish it’s nariz.”

We then cycled through a number of body parts and she could only call them by their English names. She really could not remember what they were in Spanish.

Now with Kelly I wasn’t too surprised. Our youngest only speaks in English. People are often surprised to find out that she’s only been here 5 and 1/2 months. She conjugates, uses correct pronouns and proper verb tenses. She absorbs new phrases (literally, you see her mouth and entire face digest words…you can see vocabulary grow in her mind) at incredible rates.

But I did the same exercise with Monica this evening with the same result (except that it really bothered Monica…she grew frustrated at not remembering the words in Spanish).

I suspect that most words are new for 4 and 6 year old. You learn what you’re hearing in your immediate surroundings. And, with the exception of me, they’re not hearing much Spanish (the one major downside of living in Cincinnati, Ohio…oh how I sometimes miss Houston).

But I’m sad. Painful histories I’m praying they forget. Memories of poverty and hunger I want to disappear. Yet their loss of language, their beginning narrative (for that matter, our beginning narrative as a new family), that’s something I mourn…at least a little.

Renee and I have made the promise to help them get it back. At least some day. We tell them that some day we’ll go back to Colombia, maybe teach for a year or travel a summer. It’s a country and culture we’ve come to love. And we can’t wait to return.

In the meantime, they’re starting to sound like Americans.

One the wonderful things we got to do this last week in Michigan was to visit my grandmother a couple of times. She was the only grandparent I had left, so it’s been fun to bring great grandchildren to her place. Plus, she was a crafting queen. She made all kinds of bead bracelets and crocheted blankets.

Tangible items the girls love.

Anyway, I’m exceptionally glad we got to visit with her because she died. It wasn’t necessarily a surprise. We knew it was coming. And, while sad, the whole family is happy that she’s finally at her eternal home (no doubt welcomed by Grandad).

It’s been interesting talking about death with the girls, particularly Monica. Their sibs in Mississippi recently had a grandparent die, so death has been on the mind, so to speak. Between language issues – not to mention the mind of a young child – I’m not really sure what picture is forming.

I had to chuckle at the conversation I had during lunch today. I probably bungled it a bit, but you tell me what parent doesn’t get somewhat nervous with these conversations!

Monica: “Grandmother, dying?”

Me: “Yes sweetheart. She’s dying.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s sick and very old.”

She squinted at me. “I die? You dying?”

“No sweetheart.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re young. And we’re not sick.” (This was the part of the conversation that I wasn’t really sure how to respond.)

“Do you know what happens when you die?” I asked.

“You go to the hospital.” She said.

“And you go to the policia,” Kelly piped in. (I think, through their somewhat confusing history, they had a foster sister whose father died in a motorcycle accident. Kelly remembered the police coming to get the girl.)

“You can sometimes go to the hospital. But afterwards, you go to heaven,” I said.

The gave me confused looks. “Is it very far?” asked Monica.

“Um,” I got stuck.

“Do you get to watch TV on the way to heaven?” Monica asked.

This made me laugh. On far trips we let the girls watch videos in the car. The idea of my Grandma watching TV while going to see Jesus is a funny thought.

“Not exactly.”

“Oh. Well, send flowers then,” Monica knew that was one appropriate response to death.

“Good idea.”

I love this picture of Monica. I think it’s because she is lost in her own world of enchantment and we rarely see that from her. Usually she is hyper-aware of her surroundings, ever vigilant, highly observant. Here, she’s given complete abandon to the fun of her own imagination.

Kelly and Monica started speech therapy about a month ago on Thursdays. On one particular Thursday, I picked Kelly up from school and asked the teacher how she did.

“Well, Kelly had a hard time keeping her hands to herself. She kept touching the other students.”

“Oh, we’re working on that at home. Kelly touches EVERYTHING. Thanks for telling me.”

So we go home for lunch and have 1 1/2 hours before speech therapy. Guess what the topic of conversation is for that entire time? -Kelly, you have to keep your hands to yourself. Don’t touch other people without their permission. If you want to touch other people, don’t, just sit on your hands. Like this. OK? It’s not polite to touch other people. What are you going to do if you want to touch people? Right, sit on your hands. Show me. Good job. Don’t touch other people. OK?

Speech therapy. It’s a group therapy session. All the parents sit behind a one-way mirror from 1:00-2:30 in a tiny dark room, in silence, watching, and listening while our children learn to interact in socially appropriate ways. All the children have cognitive speech problems, ranging from ADHD to complete non-speakers.

Monica immediately latches on to the ADHD boy named Lamont. She thinks he is so funny always jumping out of his seat and getting in trouble. (File for future reference – if this is the type of student she takes to in class she’ll never lack for entertainment or her own share of trouble – which she’s already learning the hard way, but that’s another story.)

Kelly, who NEVER stops talking, has taken to the beautiful, petite, silent child named Tiana. I always sit beside Tiana’s mom. She is also very silent. On this Thursday, I sit and watch as Kelly plays with Tiana, giving her toys, talking to her about the toys, interacting FOR her with the toys. Ok, good. I’m willing Kelly to keep her hands to herself and play appropriately!

Circle time. Kelly takes Tiana’s hand and leads her to a chair. Kelly continues to hold Tiana’s hand. Kelly takes Tiana’s hand and points to the teacher to answer a question, FOR Tiana. Kelly feels Tiana’s cornrows. Kelly fixes Tiana’s shirt. Speech therapist asks Kelly to keep her hands to herself. Kelly holds Tiana’s hand. Kelly takes Tiana’s headband off. Kelly fixes Tiana’s hair. Kelly puts the headband back on Tiana’s head. Speech therapist tells Kelly to keep her hands to herself. I turn to Tiana’s mom and apologize. “We just talked about this at home. I’m trying to teach her not to touch things.” She chuckles but doesn’t say, “That’s ok. I understand.”

Story time. Kelly grabs Tiana around the waist to lead her to the floor. All my will power is gone. It’s torture to sit and watch. I turn to Tiana’s mom and apologize again. I turn back to the mirror. Kelly, in leading Tiana to the floor, has tripped and both girls are on the floor, Kelly on top of Tiana. In agony I ask the other parents if I’m allowed to interrupt the therapy session. Sure, they say. After all, Lamont’s dad raps on the mirror every time Lamont misbehaves, which is literally about every 5 minutes. That’s 18 interruptions a session right there. So,

I bust in. “I’m so sorry to interrupt but can I talk to Kelly really quickly? Kelly, remember? KEEP YOUR HANDS TO YOURSELF!!!”

I walk back to the room and see Kelly with a really confused look on her face, still holding Tiana’s hand. She totally doesn’t get it. And that’s Kelly in a nutshell.

They are so happy to have their own library cards . . . and so am I!

This is how I found Monica when I came out of the shower today.

arden lane

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