Naughty

You know that child your mother cursed you with when you were younger? 

You know the one I'm talking about; the one God, with shaking head and knowing smile, set aside for you in heaven on the day your finally-ran-out-of-patience mom first spouted the words: "Someday, I hope you have a child who does _________, just like you've done _________to me all these years!"

Yeah.  That child.  He just turned three.

Until I had this child, I thought the one before him was like me.  And he is.  Kinda.  That little boy has a big personality and has emotions (and an occasional temper) as deep and torrential as oceans, just like his Mama.  But this little boy is something else entirely. 

My three-year-old son is me in a small male body.

Decisive. Argumentative.
Creative. Musical. Entertaining.
Rarely afraid of conflict, self-assured.
Daring. Boundary-pushing. 
Happy, content.
Joyful.

We are strong personalities,
my little clone and I.

A few months ago, this little bundle of personality went through a rough patch with his behavior.  Unfortunately for him, after mothering RAD kids, there is virtually nothing he can do that will phase his Mama, even when he really, really wants to.  Believe me...he's tried, but I've pretty much seen it all and am alarmed by very few "normal" child behaviors.  Sometimes I feel bad for the poor little guy; he gives it his best, but when even the most impressive of toddler tantrums earns a cheerful "Let me know when you're done!" from the one person you're trying to get a rise out of, it puts an oppositional toddler in a tough spot.

So Mr. K started getting naughtier, and naughtier and naughtier.  

And I made a big mistake.  I started telling him he was naughty.

I may have said: 
                                 "Don't be naughty."    "You're being naughty."   
          "That's naughty!"  "Don't be a naughty boy!"


But he heard:
                 "I'm naughty."  "I'm naughty."   "I'm naughty."
                                "I'm naughty."   "I'm naughty."

It's been my experience that a child will meet your expectations.  They internalize the things you say about them, and then rise or fall to that standard.  I know this.  I've learned this in the past.  And yet, I still spent weeks unintentionally programming my little son to think of himself as "naughty."  And guess what?  He kept getting naughtier.

One day in January, I picked Mr. K up when he was misbehaving, and I said something like "Don't do that, you're a nice boy."  He looked me right in the eye and said, "No, I'm not!  I'm a naughty boy!"  He insisted he was naughty so many times in the following days that I couldn't overlook the fact that he was using my words to describe himself.  He was becoming who I told him he was!

I've made a few changes in how I discipline my son.  I don't allow his "naughtiness" to go unnoticed (or unpunished, when needed), but I've changed my words and softened them with hugs.  For example, when Mr. K grabs his toy out of the baby's hands, making him cry, I don't tell him he's being naughty.  Instead, I say something like "Oh! Poor baby, he wants to play with your toys, too!  What can you find to share with him?  You're a good sharer."  Admittedly, my obstinate toddler stared at me peculiarly when I first tried this, but he's starting to internalize that he's a "good sharer", and has started sharing on his own.  Now, when he tries to take something from the baby, I just remind him what a good sharer he is, and he usually gives it right back.  His behavior has changed by leaps and bounds, and while he's still a handful, it's obvious he feels better about himself because he's learning he's a "nice boy", a "sweet boy", and a "good sharer."  He's a different child than he was when he thought he was "naughty."

We have a tough job, us parents.  The words we choose are the words that our children will use to define themselves, and when I think of all the words I use with my own kids in an average day, it terrifies me.  Who do they believe they are, deep down?  Lazy?  Unmotivated?  Mean?  Messy?  Argumentative?  Irresponsible?  What do they hear me saying when I tell them they asked a silly question, or point out that they're being irrational?  When I tell them to act their age?

I don't want my thoughtless words to dictate who my children will be; I want my kids to believe that they are capable, fun, helpful, nice, intelligent, motivated, responsible, empowered children of God. 

I have some work to do.


With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings, who have been made in God’s likeness.  Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this should not be.  James 3:9-10

Beauty

There is beauty in having a big family.

Beauty that I never knew was possible before, when I was caught up in how many children I thought I wanted, or how much money I thought I needed, or how many fashionable clothes hung on hangers in my closet, each outfit with a pair of shoes to match.

Yes, there is beauty.  Unimaginable beauty in having no spare time to do what I want to do, no spare money to buy what I want to buy, and almost no idea of what I even would buy if I was given the chance because I'm so totally wrapped up in living for other people instead of myself.

I have always been a selfish person.

I've done what I wanted to do.
I haven't done what I haven't felt like doing.
I've said what I wanted to say.
I've gone where I wanted to go, and bought what I wanted to buy.

I've lived my life how I felt like living it, and not for other people.

Yes, I've been selfish.  It's easy when you have no children, or only a few children, or when your children aren't with you for much of the time.  When there's time to think about the things you want, which are so often the things that you really don't need; when there are hours and hours of your day that are not devoted to meeting the needs and desires of precious little people that are with you constantly and always seem to want your attention.

I am rarely given the chance to be selfish anymore.

And this is beautiful.

Don't look down on me because I have a big family.

I am blessed more abundantly than anyone I know.

Don't pity me because I'm overrun night and day by people who need me, or because I rarely have a few moments off.

I have grown more from serving my children than I ever could have grown from "me-time".

Don't judge me poorly because I've chosen to give up my freedom for these children, some broken, some healing, and some totally naïve about the pains of the world.

There is beauty in giving up your dreams, your desires, your freedom, your fancy vacations, your extra spending money, whatever it may be, and in living your life daily for others who depend on you.

There is beauty in waking up one day and realizing that their dreams and desires have become your dreams and desires, too.

And then it hits you. 
You're not nearly as selfish as you used to be.

Beautiful.

I have a beautiful life.

  


photography by Andrew Bowser


 

Motherhood

This exact moment, begging to be frozen in time.

Sitting here, fragrance of toddler poo spread like a blanket on the inside of my nose and throat; dry heaves wondering if a green smoothie looks any different on the way back up.

Sitting here, heart beating an angry rhythm, watching a poop-covered tub-occupant clumsily wash himself with a bar of Daddy's soap; little chunks of number two bobbing in the wake.

Deep breaths, Mama, deep breaths.

Blood pressure slowly descending now. 
Initial fury at discovery of finger-painted masterpiece subsiding.

Canvas: crib
Medium: crap
Frequency: third time in as many months

Calming down now.
Calming down tubside while sitting on the throne, of all places. 
I love me some irony.

Nursing a baby, working through frustration with one available hand pecking words tumbling out, directing little puppeteers from room adjoining, and bathing a toddler covered hands, legs and cheeks (both sets) in greenish poo all while sitting on (sitting on, not using, mind you) an ugly 1970s greenish-gold toilet.

My life is less than glamorous.

And now I'm looking at my toddler, soap slipping between wrinkled fingers, getting away from little hands.  Fingers grasping, soap jumping.  Grasping and slipping and jumping.  And laughing.  Eyes smiling, squeals of delight, chubby cheeks all pushed up in million-dollar grins carved out of caked-on poo.

Frustration is lost.

How I love those poo-covered cheeks, and that poo-covered little boy who just yesterday was the nursing baby in my arms, and now uses manners and builds with "yegos" and is washing up all by himself with Daddy's green bar of soap.

And I look away for a moment, more words pecked out, and suddenly he's screaming, bubbly hands rubbing eyes all over.  Soap in eyes, stinging, hurting.  And guilt.  My poor baby, why on earth did I give you Daddy's soap?  Tear-free was far from my mind when I plopped you in that tub.

Rinsing and screaming and rinsing and screaming and shaky breaths drawn from still-sobbing lungs.  Mama makes it better, but Mama is so sorry she gave you that soap in the first place, little man.



I couldn't resist taking a picture. 
Call it payback if you will, but I have the feeling
this photo will pop up in the future.

Hour lost in scrubbing and playing and hair-washing screams that can never be avoided, and singing "scrub your toddler" songs.  And then drying and cuddling, wrapped in arms and a towel, I love on my sweet-scented barely-bigger-than-a-baby.  This wonderful, frustrating two-year-old, who knows his own mind and yet makes no sense at all; with the joy of discovering life dancing alive in his beautiful long-lashed blue eyes. 

And I know I'd scrub poo off him for a thousand years if he needed me to.

This is motherhood.  At its best, and at its worst.  This is my life, replayed over and over inside the core of each day coming end on end.  Anger, laughter, pride, fury, frustration, joy, guilt, and endless work, smiles, cuddles, love and wonder.  Always the wonder.

My heart overflows.

Finding the Funny

My funny bone has been fractured and is in dire need of repair.

That's a common side effect to living in crisis mode, I would suspect.  But for someone who thrives on seeing the humor in life and who loves almost nothing more than a long drawn-out fit of giggles, having serious, grown-up issues to digest and comprehend and sort out at almost every waking moment is getting a bit old. 

My current default emotions are anything but funny.
And it's wearing me out.

If we don't find something to laugh about, it's all too easy for my hubby and me to mentally curl up in a dark, cob-webby corner and lose ourselves in sorrow.  So we're having to make a conscious effort these days to "find the funny" in our lives...even in our current situation.

Let's face it: there is very little humorous about our son going off the deep end, assaulting people, and being locked up in Juvenile Detention.  We get this.  We understand.  Our son's future, his choices and his violent behavior are not a laughing matter...

               ...but sometimes...

                                  ....we still need to laugh.

For starters, it's amazing to hear how every single thing that's happened is not our son's fault.  I'm beginning to see how the jails are full of people who 'didn't do it', but I'm also a bit concerned about all the seemingly law-abiding people walking around free...you know, all the ones who are actually to blame.  Like me.  And my husband.  And the police officers.  And the caseworkers.  And the cat. 

It's just a teeny tiny bit humorous (to borrow our son's rationale) that it's acceptable to threaten to report people to CPS just for looking at you funny, and that when any authority figure doesn't do what you want, it's perfectly logical that you should threaten to kill them. 

We also discovered recently through acquired documentation of his hospital stay, that after our son had been ripping up all the carpet squares in his hospital room, he went into a rage and furiously demanded that he be moved to a room with nice carpet.  How dare they keep him in a room with ruined carpet?  Seriously?!  I find this hilariously unbelievable, and yet so consistent with what we see at home.

A few weeks ago, we came upon a question on a form asking us: "What five things concern you the most about your child's behavior?"

Without missing a beat, my husband writes in:

#1.  He wants to kill me.    

The absurdity of it all sent us both into peals of laughter until tears were nearly running down our faces.  I mean, really, is it necessary to list four more concerns after that one?

#2.  He wants to kill my wife.

#3.  See #1 and #2.

#4.  "

#5.  "

Hee hee.

And then there's the funding issue.  The payer of last resort.  We're still researching residential treatment facilities and therapeutic boarding schools and what-not, and have participated in at least ten twenty thirty gazillion different conversations with various people about what is going to happen and who is going to fund it since insurance won't.  The state of Michigan adoption subsidy?  Community Mental Health?  The Juvenile Court system?  The Department of Human Services? 

After talking to countless places in-depth, each of them has claimed to be the "payer of last resort".  How can this be?  How does that even work?  If they all can pay, but are only the "payer of last resort", are they all going to refuse to pay until someone else does?  Or are they all going to decide to pay at the same time?  Is that even possible?  I don't think it makes any sense...but at least we've got an awesome new catch phrase in our home.  And when we're grocery shopping, you better believe that I'm gonna let my husband get his debit card out before I do.  I'm pleading my case as the "payer of last resort".

In all seriousness, there have been very few things to laugh about with everything our family has been through in recent months.  But laughter is therapeutic, and we believe that God made us with an innate need to laugh and to seek out joy in every situation...so we're trying. 

I've started to look around at all the other little people in my life with an incredible thankfulness for the joy that they offer to me freely, whenever I remember to watch and listen.

Just this morning, my 10-year-old daughter asked me what date the Fourth of July was on..."Is it July 24th?"   Hmmmm.

And my six-year-old has a new fondness for knock-knock jokes, none of which make sense to anyone besides her four-year-old brother.  And they laugh and laugh and laugh until they're both red-faced and teary.

My four-year-old son insists that counting by tens and reciting the days of the week can only be done while hopping up and down on one foot, ending up in a heap of giggles on the floor.  :)

And my 21-month-old continues to lift up my shirt regularly (even in public) to "see" the baby, demanding that "Baby come out!"  How great is that?  I don't think he really gets it...but he sure does love to pat my belly, say "Baby!" and ask to "See it?"

And I'm learning that joy really can be found in the midst of every "hopeless" situation...it just doesn't always come as easily as I'm used to. 

Usually, the world is knocking on my door, waiting to reveal the next episode of silliness to set me off laughing... 
 
...but now that the world is turned a bit upside-down, sometimes I just have to work a little harder to find the funny.


Keep laughing with us, keep loving us, keep believing alongside us.  As read in a comment on this very blog:  You, our prayerful friends and family and concerned strangers, are our "Aarons"...holding us up with your own strong arms while Scott and I are at our weakest.  It's a beautiful picture of the Body of Christ at work, and we're so blessed by and thankful for each of you.

Laughter, Hope and Anguish

We had a really nice weekend.  In the past few months, there have been times that I've wondered if we'll ever have a peaceful, happy life again...and this weekend was just a beautiful promise that there is still life and joy and happiness that can happen alongside all the heartache.  We just have to try a little bit harder to find it, trust the guiding hands of friends and family who love us, and then hold on like crazy and let the joy swallow us up for a while.

Our kids need it.
Our marriage needs it.
My heart needs it.

Saturday we had a beautiful visit from good friends, who made a long drive just to be with us and to love on us.  Our united army of children and good conversation made it impossible to dwell on ugly things, and later we joined with more friends as we watched our girls ride horses, held our boys up to pat velvety noses, and assisted in carving pumpkins and mixing hot chocolate and warming little hands by the fire.  We laughed and talked with friends, shivering in the cold, and for a moment here and there almost forgot that one of our family is missing.

We went to church and worshipped with many of those same friends the next day.  When we walked through the halls of God's house, the church came alive with the support and love and hugs of shared burdens, as it has every week during this season of our lives.  We are so very loved.  The afternoon was spent in fellowship as well, eating and laughing and talking and just being surrounded by so many who, while they can't understand what we're going through, are choosing to walk alongside of us.  They're such an incredible blessing to our family.

It was a weekend of hope.  A much-needed time to get away from the constant barrage of phone calls and emails and dead ends and closed doors.  A time to remember that God is good and gives us good things and will never abandon us in our suffering. 

We are not alone.

And yet, this morning I awoke with a sharp pain in my heart and with tears welling in my eyes.  I'm feeling the loss of my son greater today than I've felt in a long time.  I've spent weeks walking around in shock and disbelief, running on adrenaline, numb to the pain of it all, simply surviving from moment to moment.  And today the numbness is gone, the anger and the injustice and the shock are melting away.  Today the anguish is setting in.

I'm losing my son.

God, please perform a miracle in the heart and soul of my son.  Remind him of the joy our family has shared, of the thousands of good times and the laughter and the traditions and adventures.  Teach him, Lord, that a lifetime without close relationships - without family, without friends, without You - is empty and meaningless, and that he will only ever be complete and happy when he learns to love and trust.  Please infiltrate his little cell at Juvenile Detention, wreak havoc on his heart and soul, and leave him aching with the desire to try.  Lord, please give me my son. 

Go With What You Know

I found the house of my dreams this weekend.  Well, to be honest, it's more like the house of my dreams wrapped up in tons of 1980s floral wallpaper...but somewhere under all that ridiculousness is my dream house, I'm sure of it.

And I'm having trouble thinking about anything else. 

I truly want what God wants for us.  I desperately want to do His will (as does my husband), but the truth is, I'm having trouble even considering the possibility that this house is not in His plans for us.  I so badly want to believe that He revealed this "dream house" to light a fire under us...to motivate us to prepare our current house to sell quickly, and He's going to save my beautiful dream farmhouse for me as He sells our little ranch in record time (and at a profit, no less!). 

I so want this to be one of those "happily ever after" situations where God's plan matches my dreams perfectly.

And I'm praying to that end, that He will please please pleeeeeease let us have this house to raise our children in, with secret stairways and barns full of kittens and gardens growing wild and chickens running loose in the yard.  With the old tire swing hanging from the giant tree out back just like I've always pictured it would be; the creek down the street just begging for bare toes and rolled-up pant legs, bursting with frogs in need of catching, and the fields around the house bowing with the weight of the harvest, the sun bearing down with golden kisses on the house...the yard...the life of my dreams. 

And here I am again, getting ahead of God.

If you haven't noticed, I don't need encouragement to dream.  I need encouragement to work.  And one way or another, God is using this dream to push me; to motivate me like I've never been motivated before.  That could be His only purpose for putting this house in my life. 

I sincerely hope not.  But I'm choosing to trust Him (and I'll have to keep reminding myself to trust). 

If this "perfect" house is not meant to be ours, if we're not supposed to raise our family there, then He has something far better in His plans. 

I know this is true, even though it doesn't feel true and I don't want it to be true.  Facts and feelings are two different things.  When feelings get in the way, you've got to go with what you know.  

But just in case, I'm gonna go pack something.

The Past Eighteen Hours

In the past eighteen hours, I've bathed a child by moonlight whose feet and face were covered in vomit, I've mopped half-digested lasagna from my bathroom floor as my husband sponged the hallway carpet, and I've rescued sweaty strands of hair from being drowned in the contents of a blue tupperware bowl, affectionately known as the puke bucket. 

I've also massaged swollen gums where tiny teeth refuse to break through, and I've administered pain medication and soothing whispers and kisses and cuddles.  I've slept fitfully side-by-side with a little patient who has no comprehension of why his mouth hurts whenever he nurses...or sucks on his binky...or rolls over in his sleep.

In the past eighteen hours, I have taught math and writing and phonics to a handful of children, answered several ridiculous questions with obvious answers, and laughed at, joked with, reprimanded and redirected various small people in their tasks for the day.  I've analyzed behaviors of Attachment Disordered kids, tried to heighten and not hinder the bonding process, and both marveled and lamented the progress we're making.  I've also checked over assignments done with half-effort, dealt with less-than-savory attitudes from pre-adolescents that know mostly everything there is to know, and spent a good deal of time teaching a three-year-old to distinguish a "D" from an "E" and a "G". 

I've laughed a lot, gotten frustrated a little, and lost my temper for at least a few moments.  I've sung no less than fifty stupid little songs about cute babies and arguing and being patient and going poo on the potty and getting out of bed and having a good attitude, and spent the better part of an hour online trying to figure out how to download treats for my son's virtual pet.

In the past eighteen hours, I've made a pot of coffee and three square meals, doled out snacks of gingerbread marshmallows and oreos and milk, and bathed another child who lost a battle with a milk jug.  I've changed a half-dozen diapers, wiped little backsides, and constantly reminded a toddler to use the potty, handing out high-fives, gummy bears and stickers when he's been successful.  I've loaded four kids into the hugest van ever to retrieve the aforementioned pre-adolescent from school.  I've put kids down for a combined total of five naps, and never did manage to take one myself, even though (with all the puking and the teething) I've been running on only a few hours of sleep.

And now, all but the baby are in bed.  Sleeping, I hope, but at the very least tucked away for the day.  Unless someone gets sick, that is. 

I'm really, really tired.  And I have a confession.

This Mommy-thing doesn't come easy for me. 

I'm a selfish person.  I love to spend time on myself, doing what I want, not being forced to do anything else.  Anything icky.  Anything out of my comfort zone.  Anything that makes me work harder or give more or be more Christlike than I ever thought I would have to be.  I rather enjoy thinking about me.

But the strange thing is this:  the more children our home is blessed with...the more I am forced to give of myself...the less selfish I become...and the happier my life is turning out to be.

Kinda opposite from what the world tells us, don't you think?