Let me just make mention of a type of doll that creeps me out.

Dolls are sort of creepy to begin with, but I never realized that there is a huge market of talking and moving dolls. Whether it’s  a motion sensor or a timer, they will suddenly start to move and talk.

The last few nights I’ve put the girls to bed and head downstairs. I settle with a cup of tea. I have a magazine ready to read.

And across the room I hear this high pitched voice.

“I see you!” (Mechanical grinding limbs)

Freaks me out every time.

We’ve had some very exciting days in the V2 family. Wednesday, the Lohrstofers came to town to visit! For 7 hours the house was complete, deliriously happy chaos as all four siblings got to play with each other. Speaking personally, it was ever so nice to compare notes with Chris and Mary. We’re all going through a lot of the same things.

Before they arrived, Monica kept running around the house yelling “happy, happy!”

The day after the Lohrstofers, we took our first major road trip. The normally 6 hour trip to Holland was done in a still respectable 7 hours. Once in Holland, the girls got to meet their aunts and cousins for the first time.

Monica, again, has spent the days yelling “happy, happy.”

Today, Dad took us all for an airplane ride.
When I was a kid, we would beg Dad to do a whoop-de-do. What’s a whoop-de-do? It’s when you point the plane up, gain altitude, then point the plane down and quickly lose altitude. The effect is that you get to literally float through the air (it’s the same things astronauts do for training for space). Many people don’t like the sensation (my mom was never a fan).

The girls loved it. I was watching Kelly the 1st time. At first her face transformed into a look of sheer terror. By the time she floated back to the floor she was asking to do it again.

Here’s the video of the 3rd time.

Well, we haven’t posted in a while. Partly because life is crazy! and partly because we’re rather busy. However, we think about posting a lot. Here are some blog titles that float through my head on a regular basis:

Man this is hard!

If only tantrums were just screaming and crying

Stress balls: bad idea

Toddlers on the run

Finally, a church service

Dangerous driving

Nano y Mariana

Yo solita!!!

Don’t touch my daughter like you’re her mother

Oh my goodness

Pio Pio PIO!

Thank God that every day has some comic relief, provided by the girls. They are a joy and a blessing to us, as we pray we are to them. Here they are, being their cute selves.

To view larger images, click on the pictures below.

To pray is to “our Father”.

Monica, in particular, is a pro with the Lord’s prayer. She CAN’T WAIT to say it before dinner. Night time is for Our Fathers of thanksgiving. As Kelly says, “thank you so much a Nicolas, a Diana, thank so much a papi y mami”. Monica rambles (often quite loudly), thanking God for her family, herself, the pool, the bed, the dog, spring, her teacher. She then likes to finish with the real Our Father.

Sometimes – I think just to check if we’re paying attention – they like to slip mean thanksgivings into their Our Fathers. As in, “thank you so much that I made Mami cry today.” On suggestion by our wise sister-in-law, we add the Amen and leave the bed when this happens. It now happens less often.

I’ve started to think of prayers as Our Fathers. I find it comforting.

* * * *

Since introducing children to our house things break down at astonishing rates. The current frustration is the bathroom sink (actually, both bathroom sinks…but at least one is partially working). Its clogged with rust, organic mush, and one unfortunate toothpaste cap.

Knowing that these projects can turn into all day events, I marked off Saturday as the day to replace part of the drain and get things cleaned out. Part of the job involved chemicals (as in Drano) and recognizing the girls propensity to touch all things (especially Kelly) I was a bit nervous.

I didn’t get very far.  Saturday Monica decided to push hard to find boundaries.

It actually started Friday when, in perfect Spanish grammar, she informed me that she “no longer chose me as her Papi.”

“You don’t love me,” she pouted. “I pick a different Papi.”

Now I’ve sort of expected this at some point. But I also was a bit surprised. I mean, it’s such a cliche moment – your adopted daughter telling you that she wanted a different family. How many adoptive parents (or – heck – non-adoptive parents) have their kids say that? I didn’t get angry. In fact, I busted out laughing. Which is never a good thing to do with Monica because that tends to irritate her more than getting angry.

Anyway, Saturday was rough. Probably the roughest I’ve had since getting the girls. Since that day I’ve a number of friends assure me that the behavior I dealt with can be pretty normal for a 5 or 6 year old. But still, I think it’s different with adoptive kids. With adoptive kidos you’re dealing with children who’ve already had a world of hurt dished out to them. That parent/child bond of trust isn’t immediately there (even if it’s developing at a good rate). You want to be careful, yet firm, loving but not a pushover. You need to think in a split second about actions and reactions.

And, well, it’s hard. It’s scary.

After 7 or so volcanic meltdowns we came to find out that Monica missed her foster family. These girls don’t have the vocabulary – in Spanish or English – to describe what their feeling. It’s part of the Sherlock Holmes aspect of parenting. Why the behavior? Because her foster mom – someone who had been there for her for the past 2 years – was missed. That didn’t excuse the meltdowns. But explained them.

So now it’s Thursday. I still haven’t gotten the sink fixed. But we’ve lived a lot of life.

* * * *

Before falling asleep that Saturday night Monica went for one more fight. I brought her into the guest room, which that day effectively served as a padded safe room, and embraced her, waiting for her to calm down.

She struggled and went to bite me. Just as I went to restrain her arms she suddenly stopped and looked at me full in the eyes.

“Papi,” she said. “Our Father?”

My God, she wanted to pray? Where did this come from?

I quickly nodded. “Yeah Monica, let’s Our Father.” And we did, her following my lead as went through the rhythm.

“Monica,” I said after the prayer. “Let’s make this our key. When we’re angry and we have to come to this room for a consequence, let’s always make it so that we can stop and say Our Father.”

She melted into a hug and said “OK Papi”

I think part of being a father makes you sentimental. Part of being a Christian makes you tremble – particularly as you get an idea of sacrifice and love. That night, after putting her to sleep, I cried a bit. I was humbled, hurt, a little freaked out, and worried.

But I found new value in saying Our Father.

We’ve been trying to teach the girls to use their words instead of their fists/hands when they are feeling strong emotions. I found this website and made flashcards for the girls to use for practice. They’re doing a great job learning the English words for these 8 basic emotions and I caught it on tape the day after introducing them. I was so proud of Kelly yesterday because I witnessed first hand how she used her words instead of hitting. Monica had walked to the couch and pulled a book right out of Kelly’s hands. Kelly turned to Monica and stomped her foot and said, “ANGRRRY!” (rolling her Rs) Wow, good job using your words Kelly!

It’s easy doing the mom thing. And it’s easy for Zach to do that dad thing. BUT, it’s NOT easy doing the parenting thing. Being parents (plural) means we have to agree on how to do things together, when we’re together, or at least pretend we do in front of the girls. When I’m home alone being mom, I can do things my way. Likewise with Zach. But when we’re together, we have to do a whole lot more communication before, during, and after our interactions with the girls.

We try to be on the same page. It’s a lot of give and take. I’m sure we both feel like we’re giving or taking more at different times. We keep going back to the books, rehashing what our social workers have said, talking with friends and family. More and more I see the blessing it is to be surrounded by the wisdom and encouragement of others who have already walked this walk, or who are currently doing so. It’s a behind the scenes community effort that is helping us raise these precious, sweet, sugar and spice girls.

The hardest part is figuring out what to do when we disagree. My usual preferred solution is to be as cautious as possible until we educate ourselves more on whatever topic we are “parenting” to. Sometimes that comes off as very pessimistic. Zach seems to be more of the optimist, although he is also cautious. I think we have begun to see that we look at things through different lenses. . . Hmm, What to do?

I’m curious to know how other couples work out parenting disagreements. Thanks in advance for any advice.

Discipline is sort of like an evolutionary arms race. Once you figure out how to tackle one behavioral problem they quickly (and quite brillantly) figure out a jedi-mind trick move to see how quick your mental (and sometime physical) abilities run.

In the last two days both girls found my weakness.

Monica first. Yesterday was a rough day and a good part of it was my fault. Sometimes she doesn’t quite understand the boundry between play and carelessness that can result in pain. We were horsing around and she jumped into my arms and promptly grabbed my hair and gave it a good yank. She thought it would be funny.

Normally I’ll sit her down and explain that this hurt Papi and caused him pain. She does not like to cause pain. Indeed, she often starts crying when we point out that her actions hurt Mami, or Papi, or Kelly, or Kenzie. We thank God that she has a conscience. But we’re trying to teach her the appropriate actions to do after causing someone pain (not just cry and sulk).

This time around I sat her down in the chair and made a mistake. I wanted to be clear as to why she was in the chair. What I should have done was put my hand in my head and demonstrating pulling of my hair. Instead I put my hand behind behind her head.

Now I want to be clear that I didn’t pull her hair. But I did completely freak her out. And with hindsight, how can I blame her? She knew she was in trouble and here a hand was coming towards her face. She just pulled my hair, it might be natural to assume that she was about to get a good yank.

Anyway, this lead to a major tantrum. Short, but strong. It ended well, with her in my arms and just asking for lots and lots of hugs. But because this major tantrum was in the morning, we had a suspicion that it was going to be a hard day (there are usually patterns). And it was.

But during a mid-afternoon time in that was shaping up to be Major Tantrum Part 2, Monica promptly stopped struggling in my arms, wrapped her arms around me and gave me a big, fat kiss on the cheek.

I don’t think anything could surprised me more. Indeed, I felt emotionally jerked. I go into the major tantrums with a stony resolve. I’m muttering things like “don’t take it personal”, “be careful”, “keep a calm but firm voice”, and “uh-oh what next?” Having a sudden kiss just made me incredible happy.

So I laughed. And Monica of course starting laughing.

And I promptly forgot why she had a time-in.

Kelly found her own version of this today. She was in some pretty deep trouble and returning to the time-in chair for the third time. Kelly really does not like any consequences. She cries and yells (but usually gets over them in record time). This time she was screaming “noooooo” as we walked to the chair. When we got there she stopped suddenly, looked at me with her oh so big eyes and slightly chubby cheeks, and said in clear English, “I love you Papi”.

I wilted. But in a good way. I have her a huge hug and told her to say “I’m sorry”. Which she did and happily returned to her normal chattering self.

Smartly played.

I am absolutely amazed as my two sponges absorb bits and pieces of their new language and string the various results into interesting, often nonsensical, phrases.

Perhaps it stands out all the more because I don’t see my girls for the first 2/3 of the day. I leave in the morning and come home in the afternoon and – poof – they’ve got new sentences. The other day I walk in the house and Kelly burns around the corner to give me a big hug. I put her down and she does this big shrug and says, clear as any natural American, “I don’t know!” When did that happen?

They like to run their tongues with gibberish that they think is English. They listen to Ren and I conversing and then immitate the tone.

“Ya gago de issu, yea e and A a I dunno Amen”

The most repetitive thing we say with them is the Lord’s prayer so a good number of these gibberish sentences begin with “our Father”.

The cool thing is some of these gibberish sentences solidify over the week. More and more real word appear with pretty decent verb tenses. They recognize the words we use with them often (this evening Kelly said “tienes mucho lice!”).

It’s fascinating.

arden lane

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