Anyone that knows my Tara knows how much she hates to be in any confining situation! We started parenting her at 17 months old, and have been thrilled to see how much this Reactive Attachment Disorder, Intermittent Rage Disorder and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder kid has grown, and thrived!
For the most part, she is a beautiful blue-eyed blond, tiny features and sparkling spirit! But we know, underneath it all, she still hates to be confined. Getting seat belts on her and keeping them on has always been challenging, and there were many years that even a hug would send her reeling. Now, happily, she seeks out hugs and affection. What a change and what a blessing!
This weekend we were able to go spend some time at an indoor water park about 45 minutes from our home. We planned a day to swim, a night at a hotel (with more swimming!) and the next day of waterpark fun again. What we didn't plan was the fever that hit 3 of the kids on the morning of the second day, forcing us to come home (plenty of tears too!) with a promise of returning to finish our second day soon.
We also didn't plan on the freezing rain that came overnight, and the extreme cold that set in (again!) It made our drive home somewhat treacherous. But we made it home. Gramma wasn't able to join us because of the weather, but we plan to see her again soon.
We also didn't plan the malfunction that could have ruined our entire weekend.
It started with Tyler knocking on the bathroom door, from inside. I was the only one in the room at the time, as the rest of the crew was getting in an evening swim at the hotel pool. No one but us were at the hotel, so it was like having this huge mansion to ourselves! Nice! Tyler had come back from the hotel weight room, and wanted to change into his suit to finish the night with a swim. I heard the knock, and wondered why he couldn't' get out of the bathroom. It seemed the lock had stuck, so I grabbed the only tool I could find, a plastic coffee stirring stick.
I poked it into the little hole in the knob about 3 times, finally triggering the lock that was stuck. It opened and Tyler went to swim.
About 9 that night, the rest of the kids came up from the pool, taking turns changing into warm jammies, and ready to settle in for the night. Tara was in the bathroom tub, so I was shocked when Mere tried to get in to change our of her suit and the door was locked. I asked Tara to unlock it.
"I didn't lock it mom. She can come in."
Right. The knob turned, but would not release the lock. Major malfunction. I tried every coffee stirrer I could find in the room, and nothing worked. Tyler insisted a credit card would work. Nope.
We assured Tara several times that we were working on getting the door open. I figured one of us would snap the lock at any time and free her.
Nope. Mike called the manager, who came up with her "key", assuming Tara had locked herself in the bathroom. That sounded like something the manager had dealt with before! After 10 minutes of her trying, she decided it was out of her league, so she called the day manager in. Apparently, the day manager knew something about locks, and wanted to try her own hand at it.
By 9;30, Tara was still stuck in the bathtub. We were keeping her calm by promising a trip to the candy machine and she assured us she was fine. As long as she could hear someone, she sounded calm. At one point, Nelly slid a piece of paper under the door that said "Are you scared? Circle YES or NO" The paper came back, with the NO circled. I thought it was funny that she sent a note under the door, because we had been talking to her the entire time!
By 9:45, both managers had been fiddling with the lock, unsuccessful at removing the handle like they figured they could do at one time. Finally, one of the girls twisted the handle, while the other one slammed her body into the door. Woosh!! It flung open!
There was Tara, crouched under the large sink and counter, shreds of toilet paper all over the entire floor! But she was calm!
We praised her over and over for how she handled it. I know, from the paper she had shredded, she was feeling the tension, but she handled it really well. And of course, before the manager left, Tara was out in the hallway headed to the vending machine and her promised treat!
I am glad that Tara came through the situation so well. I am thankful that the managers took good care to ducktape the lock shaft so it would not happen again.
What surprised me though, was that they never offered more than an "I'm sorry about that." We paid $130 for the night to rest and relax, but for more than an hour we had strangers in our room, and a bit of fear to boot! I thought maybe taking something off the bill would have been nice....
But I am glad it all ended well! And breakfast in the morning was really great. All in all, a successful mini-vacation!
Plus, Tara had an exciting story to tell her friends at school on Tuesday!
Large family life, through a mama's eyes
Showing posts with label fears. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fears. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Monday, October 18, 2010
Fear Not
Today is the Pumpkin Patch field trip for my two kindergarten students. Tommy is excited and motivated to get out the door. Mere, not so much.
Mere is my fearful child. She has a great sense of humor, and is quite the joker. But when there is something new coming up, she will fret about it for days and play out every wicked scenario in her little mind. Today, she thinks she is going to get lost in the corn maze.
I try to help her overcome her fears. They often seem irrational, silly, and unwarranted. They make her look weak, when in fact, she is a very strong, sensible little girl. I don't want her to be debilitated by her fears. After all, she has overcome soooo very much in her young life already.
This is how life started for Mere.
Born to a cocaine dependant mother, Mere was the 5th child born and removed from her family of origin. In other words, irresponsible behaviour was not new to her birth mom. But that's another post, another day.
Mere was born 13 weeks early, weighing in at 1# 15 oz. and just 13 inches long. Picture a ruler, with feet and a tiny face and hands. Barely surviving, she was transfered to a larger hospital in the next town over. Before the week was over, she was transfered to an even larger childrens hospital 1 1/2 was hours away. The man, who thought he was father, took the bus to the town where she was resting in the NICU, just to be a part of the decisions being made in her life. Birthmom? Gone, as if nothing happened.
Mere had to undergo a surgery to removed decaying pieces of her small intenstines, but within days of closing her incisions, another life saving surgery was needed. This time, Doctors had to remove a larger part of her small intestine. She had necrotizing enterocolitis. Big word for such a tiny baby. A feeding tube surgically inserted into her stomach would insure she got the nutrients she needed while her little body healed from 2 surgeries close together.
I didn't meet Mere until she was 3 months old. She was still struggling to gain weight, but her scars had healed to a bright red line across her abdomen. She had a TPN line in her leg and the feeding tube sticking out from under her rib cage. She was wrinkled, and still. The nurses called her Dolly.
Once the state took over her guardianship, the "father" was found to be nobody to Mere according to DNA testing. I've often felt sorry for him, since the first few months of Mere's life he cared for her like a father would. He even brought her a tub full of toys, blankets and clothing before he disappeared into that grey fog of "whose baby is she?"
When we stepped in as foster parents, it looked like Mere would come home to us long enough to heal and move on to the family that adopted her next oldest sibling. A little girl just two years older than Mere. Seeing her later made me think of Mere. They look so much alike.
Mere was released in April, three and one half months after her birth. We had learned her care, her feeding machine, her routine. We learned how to bathe her with tubes attached to her body, how to make her formula that cost $50 a can. Golden milk for a sick baby.
We found a car seat for a preemie, one that still swallowed her up when she was placed inside it for the ride home. She was only five pounds, fully dressed. We bought a mesh cover for the top of the car seat so no one would touch her with unwanted germs. We learned to protect her.
Fast forward to a tiny framed little blonde, ready to turn 7 years old much sooner than her dad and I are ready for it. Most of the time I look at her and see a normal, well adjusted, funny and sweet little girl.
But on field trip day, when I sense her fear of being lost, I take a minute to reassure her that all will be fine. I tell her that she is smart, she is fun and she makes friends easily. She will not go through the pumpkin patch alone, her teacher will put her with a group that will make sure she makes it out of the maze just fine.
"But what if I get lost, Mommy?"
So, again, I reassure her she will be just fine. After all, Someone special has been watching her from her very first breath, well before we ever met her. And I am sure He is going to be keeping His eyes on her for a very long time.
Matthew 10:29-31(New International Version)
"Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows."
Mere is my fearful child. She has a great sense of humor, and is quite the joker. But when there is something new coming up, she will fret about it for days and play out every wicked scenario in her little mind. Today, she thinks she is going to get lost in the corn maze.
I try to help her overcome her fears. They often seem irrational, silly, and unwarranted. They make her look weak, when in fact, she is a very strong, sensible little girl. I don't want her to be debilitated by her fears. After all, she has overcome soooo very much in her young life already.
This is how life started for Mere.
Born to a cocaine dependant mother, Mere was the 5th child born and removed from her family of origin. In other words, irresponsible behaviour was not new to her birth mom. But that's another post, another day.
Mere was born 13 weeks early, weighing in at 1# 15 oz. and just 13 inches long. Picture a ruler, with feet and a tiny face and hands. Barely surviving, she was transfered to a larger hospital in the next town over. Before the week was over, she was transfered to an even larger childrens hospital 1 1/2 was hours away. The man, who thought he was father, took the bus to the town where she was resting in the NICU, just to be a part of the decisions being made in her life. Birthmom? Gone, as if nothing happened.
Mere had to undergo a surgery to removed decaying pieces of her small intenstines, but within days of closing her incisions, another life saving surgery was needed. This time, Doctors had to remove a larger part of her small intestine. She had necrotizing enterocolitis. Big word for such a tiny baby. A feeding tube surgically inserted into her stomach would insure she got the nutrients she needed while her little body healed from 2 surgeries close together.
I didn't meet Mere until she was 3 months old. She was still struggling to gain weight, but her scars had healed to a bright red line across her abdomen. She had a TPN line in her leg and the feeding tube sticking out from under her rib cage. She was wrinkled, and still. The nurses called her Dolly.
Once the state took over her guardianship, the "father" was found to be nobody to Mere according to DNA testing. I've often felt sorry for him, since the first few months of Mere's life he cared for her like a father would. He even brought her a tub full of toys, blankets and clothing before he disappeared into that grey fog of "whose baby is she?"
When we stepped in as foster parents, it looked like Mere would come home to us long enough to heal and move on to the family that adopted her next oldest sibling. A little girl just two years older than Mere. Seeing her later made me think of Mere. They look so much alike.
Mere was released in April, three and one half months after her birth. We had learned her care, her feeding machine, her routine. We learned how to bathe her with tubes attached to her body, how to make her formula that cost $50 a can. Golden milk for a sick baby.
We found a car seat for a preemie, one that still swallowed her up when she was placed inside it for the ride home. She was only five pounds, fully dressed. We bought a mesh cover for the top of the car seat so no one would touch her with unwanted germs. We learned to protect her.
Fast forward to a tiny framed little blonde, ready to turn 7 years old much sooner than her dad and I are ready for it. Most of the time I look at her and see a normal, well adjusted, funny and sweet little girl.
But on field trip day, when I sense her fear of being lost, I take a minute to reassure her that all will be fine. I tell her that she is smart, she is fun and she makes friends easily. She will not go through the pumpkin patch alone, her teacher will put her with a group that will make sure she makes it out of the maze just fine.
"But what if I get lost, Mommy?"
So, again, I reassure her she will be just fine. After all, Someone special has been watching her from her very first breath, well before we ever met her. And I am sure He is going to be keeping His eyes on her for a very long time.
Matthew 10:29-31(New International Version)
"Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows."
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Feb. 25, 2009 Be Careful What you Say
We have been working hard on compiling all of our international adoption forms the past two weeks. Right now, Mike and I are doing our "self assessment" forms in preparation for the homestudy. Besides all the documentation we have to pull together since we were 18 years old, we have to complete a writing project that describes our childhood and families, along with our views on racial issues and adoptions in general. Since we have 7 adopted children, we have a good picture on domestic adoptions and how family dynamics change with each new addition, but they want us to understand how much different it will be with a child from another culture or race.
I find that the hardest to process. I mean, I know for a fact that the living standard in Ethiopia is extremely different than ours in America. I can't really remember anytime in my life where food was not readily available, even if it were not my favorite food, I have never gone hungry. I have not lived midst the fear of wars in my hometown, or drinking water that was unsafe. I have not lost my parents or siblings to a dreaded disease, and I have never been persecuted for my religious beliefs. But when it comes to loving and accepting a child into our home, I can do that. Sure, this child will come from a different landscape and lifestyle than me or my friends. An Ethiopian child will be set apart from us in color and hairstyle. But will it really be that much different than loving a new child and learning all about them than any of the other children who have come into our lives through birth or adoption?
This Ethiopian child may face discrimination in America. I can not control that. This child may have medical issues that will take time to figure out, or language differences that we will have to work hard to learn to communicate with. I will try my best to make those issues as least traumatic as possible. A child who has lost her family of origin, but who can be enveloped and loved in another family that God has put together by bits and pieces, this is the child that waits for us in Ethiopia.
I know this is an imperfect world, but I hope to offer this new child a resting place, a place of peace and opportunity. Food when he is hungry, comfort when he cries. A security of sleeping in a soft warm home at night, and an active lifestyle where she can become her best. I want to be able to teach this child the importance of love and kindness, and to accept what she can not change, and embrace with fervor the things she can. I want this child to know the love of God and the wonder of herself as a creation of a loving Saviour. I want to be able to offer him fun and family and fellowship in a church family who cares about how he lives his life.
It is just hard to express all of this on a written form that is intended to help you identify why you want to adopt another child in the first place. I know the need in Ethiopia is great for parent-less children to find forever families. I know the expense prohibits many families from taking the step to bring a child home. I also know that deep inside of me is the desire to make a difference to at least one more life, and for us, the desire it to complete that through international adoption. I just do not know that the words I wrote on the agency form is going to convince them of that.
My car broke down yesterday. In the midst of my early morning travels, I found myself on the side of the road, thankfully dialing my cell phone and then feeling the comfort of knowing Mike was on his way with a solution that would have us back on the road in a short time. What I didn't know until hours later was that when I called Mike, he was taking the 3 youngest to school, and Mere' heard her daddy say "Mom. Car. Died." There were more words, but what she heard was devastating to her little mind. She started her school day out fine, but as time wore on, she started worrying and replaying the words her five your old mind retained about that early morning phone call, and began pacing in worry that if mom had died, she would be at school forever, and she was frightened. When I picked her up, she looked at me with shock, and described, with prompting, how she worried and cried at school and figured I would never be able to pick her up again.
After a day of comforting her while she was velcro stuck to my side the rest of the day, I was able to put her to sleep last night with the promise that if I were not able to pick her up for any reason, I would make sure that someone would be there for her. I would not just leave her at school, but someone that we loved and trusted would step in if I were not able to be there for her.
Mike commented later on how he should be careful what he says. He had no idea only a few of his words would stick in Mere's mind, and it would be of great trauma to her little day. But I kept thinking how important it is to be careful of what we say, and it added up to even more in line with the words I have written in my adoption assessment. Did I say all the things that mattered? Did I express how much I wanted to express about my desire for this unknown to us (yet) child of our heart? Was I careful to use words to convey that desire?
Mere skipped off to school today just fine. She is secure in knowing she is loved and taken care of, and her fears, so real to her, have been soothed with our words of comfort.
I can't help but wonder if we will be watching another child skip off to school one day, a child from Ethiopia that may not have had the opportunity of an education had he not been allowed to join our family. And I just hope the words we speak and the love in our hearts that is growing daily for this unknown child will be enough to send her off into the world, confident and secure in knowing a family waits at home so she never has to feel alone and scared again.
I find that the hardest to process. I mean, I know for a fact that the living standard in Ethiopia is extremely different than ours in America. I can't really remember anytime in my life where food was not readily available, even if it were not my favorite food, I have never gone hungry. I have not lived midst the fear of wars in my hometown, or drinking water that was unsafe. I have not lost my parents or siblings to a dreaded disease, and I have never been persecuted for my religious beliefs. But when it comes to loving and accepting a child into our home, I can do that. Sure, this child will come from a different landscape and lifestyle than me or my friends. An Ethiopian child will be set apart from us in color and hairstyle. But will it really be that much different than loving a new child and learning all about them than any of the other children who have come into our lives through birth or adoption?
This Ethiopian child may face discrimination in America. I can not control that. This child may have medical issues that will take time to figure out, or language differences that we will have to work hard to learn to communicate with. I will try my best to make those issues as least traumatic as possible. A child who has lost her family of origin, but who can be enveloped and loved in another family that God has put together by bits and pieces, this is the child that waits for us in Ethiopia.
I know this is an imperfect world, but I hope to offer this new child a resting place, a place of peace and opportunity. Food when he is hungry, comfort when he cries. A security of sleeping in a soft warm home at night, and an active lifestyle where she can become her best. I want to be able to teach this child the importance of love and kindness, and to accept what she can not change, and embrace with fervor the things she can. I want this child to know the love of God and the wonder of herself as a creation of a loving Saviour. I want to be able to offer him fun and family and fellowship in a church family who cares about how he lives his life.
It is just hard to express all of this on a written form that is intended to help you identify why you want to adopt another child in the first place. I know the need in Ethiopia is great for parent-less children to find forever families. I know the expense prohibits many families from taking the step to bring a child home. I also know that deep inside of me is the desire to make a difference to at least one more life, and for us, the desire it to complete that through international adoption. I just do not know that the words I wrote on the agency form is going to convince them of that.
My car broke down yesterday. In the midst of my early morning travels, I found myself on the side of the road, thankfully dialing my cell phone and then feeling the comfort of knowing Mike was on his way with a solution that would have us back on the road in a short time. What I didn't know until hours later was that when I called Mike, he was taking the 3 youngest to school, and Mere' heard her daddy say "Mom. Car. Died." There were more words, but what she heard was devastating to her little mind. She started her school day out fine, but as time wore on, she started worrying and replaying the words her five your old mind retained about that early morning phone call, and began pacing in worry that if mom had died, she would be at school forever, and she was frightened. When I picked her up, she looked at me with shock, and described, with prompting, how she worried and cried at school and figured I would never be able to pick her up again.
After a day of comforting her while she was velcro stuck to my side the rest of the day, I was able to put her to sleep last night with the promise that if I were not able to pick her up for any reason, I would make sure that someone would be there for her. I would not just leave her at school, but someone that we loved and trusted would step in if I were not able to be there for her.
Mike commented later on how he should be careful what he says. He had no idea only a few of his words would stick in Mere's mind, and it would be of great trauma to her little day. But I kept thinking how important it is to be careful of what we say, and it added up to even more in line with the words I have written in my adoption assessment. Did I say all the things that mattered? Did I express how much I wanted to express about my desire for this unknown to us (yet) child of our heart? Was I careful to use words to convey that desire?
Mere skipped off to school today just fine. She is secure in knowing she is loved and taken care of, and her fears, so real to her, have been soothed with our words of comfort.
I can't help but wonder if we will be watching another child skip off to school one day, a child from Ethiopia that may not have had the opportunity of an education had he not been allowed to join our family. And I just hope the words we speak and the love in our hearts that is growing daily for this unknown child will be enough to send her off into the world, confident and secure in knowing a family waits at home so she never has to feel alone and scared again.
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