Trust and Pretty Shoes

Trust is a funny thing.  You kind of don't notice it, until it is gone... or was never there.

I think the sword and shield is the universal symbol for
"I don't trust you yet!"

Me:  Okay Ping, we have to run into my work for a second, then we will go home.
Ping:  Okay.  Can I see where you work?
Me:  Of course.  Here we are...
Ping:  Oooooh, you have a lot of computer.
Me:  Yes, yes I do.
Co-Worker:  Hello, you must be Ping!
Ping:  How you know my name?
Co-Worker:  Because your Daddy has told me all about you.
Ping:  What?!  Are you joking me?
Me:  I talk about you all the time.  I tell everyone how beautiful you are, and how nice...
Ping:  I KNOW you are joking me!
Me:  No really, I do.
Ping:  Uuuungh.  Daaaaaad!
Me:  Okay, Ping, this is Daddy's friend Miss Y.
Co-Worker:  You have very pretty shoes.
Ping:  WhaaaAAAAaaaat?
Co-Worker:  I like your shoes.
Me:  Miss Y has a bit of a shoe problem.  She has a whole drawer full of shoes!
Co-Worker:  WHAT?!  I DO NOT!
Ping:  What?  You joking me again?
Me:  Nope, look in the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet.
Ping:  *looks at drawer*  That is a big drawer.
Me:  Yes it is.  And it is FULL of shoes!
Ping:  *looks at Miss Y*  Do you has shoes in dere?
Co-Worker:  No.  No I do not.
Me:  Hey!  You can't lie to a little child!
Ping:  My Daddy is joking me.  Right?
Co-Worker:  Right.  You are so smart!
Me:  Hey!  Don't tell her I'm lying!  You want my daughter to think I'm lying to her?!
Ping:  *thinks hard, looks at me, looks at Miss Y*  You got shoes?
Co-Worker:  No.
Ping:  Daddy joking me, I know'd it!
Me:  *siiiiigh*

... two weeks later while having breakfast ...
Ping:  Mommy, Daddy joked me.
Wife:  What?
Ping:  He say, his friend have shoes in drawer.  But I know'd he joking me.
Me:  Ungh, its Miss Y at work.  She has a drawer FULL of shoes, but she won't admit it to Ping.  So Ping thinks I'm lying to her.


... a while later ...
*ring* *ring* *ring*
Me:  Hello, you've reached the Yeti at work.
Wife:  Hey, we're just passing by and Big D needs the bathroom, can you let us in?
Me:  Yea sure.  Is Ping there?
Wife:  Yea, why?
Me:  I want her to come in and see Miss Y's shoes.
Wife:  ... really?
Me:  Yes!  She can't continue to think I'm lying to her!
Wife:  ... really?!
Me:  Okay, Miss Y, Ping is coming in a couple minutes.  I need you to show her your shoes, because she thinks I'm lying to her...  and that is not good.  We don't need more attachment issues.
Co-Worker:  Oh fine.  I'll show her.
*Ping comes bounding in*
Me:  Hey baby, look, do you remember Miss Y?
Ping:  Yes!  You don't have any shoes in your drawer!
Co-Worker:  That's right!  I have no shoes in my drawer!
Me:  What?!  No shoes?!  Ping, just go open the drawer, you will SEE them all!
Ping:  Daaaaaad, stop joking me.  I go see Mom now.  Bye.


... a few weeks later ...
Me:  Hey Miss Y.
Co-Worker:  Hey, oh, hi Ping!
Ping:  Hi.  Do you have shoes yet?
Co-Worker:  How do you remember that?
Me:  It is very important to her.  You know, because she thinks I'm lying and all that.
Co-Worker:  Okay, Ping, come here.  Look.  *she cracks open her drawer a little*
I'ts like in some cheesy movie where Pandora's box is opened - light comes streaming out of the drawer, illuminating both the girls faces...
Ping:  WAaaaaOOOOWWWW?!  YOU HAVE SHOES IN YOUR DESK!
Co-Worker:  Shhhhhhhh!
Ping:  DADDY!  YOU NO JOKING ME!
Me:  I told you I wasn't joking you.
Ping:  Can I see all your shoe?
Co-Worker:  Sure.
And the two girls spent the next 1/2 hour reviewing all 30 pairs of shoes, in the drawer, hidden under the desk, and behind the computers...


See, trust takes time.  Love, you can't rush it, but you can help it along... maybe, after all, I know a thing or two about da ladies.  You can buy flowers, bring chocolates, stand out in the rain holding a ghetto blaster above your head while playing Extereme's "More Than Words" outside your beloved's window... ghetto blaster... no, it is a real word.  It was something for playing music.  Kind of like an iPod.  But bigger.  A LOT bigger.  Yes, it was portable.  You could put it on your shoulder.  No, not your pocket.  Yes, it had batteries.  About 12 D-Cells.  What's a D-Cell?!  Oh c'mon!  I'm not THAT old.  Where was I?

Oh yea, but back to trust, how do you help advance it?  How can you build it?  I'm not sure.  I mean, I can be as steadfast in my love, and as trust-worthy as one can possibly be... but trust is really out of my hands.

See, with the shoes, I was tell the bang on 100% truth.
Ping, just simply did not want to believe me.
There was nothing I could do to change her mind.

In love, in attachment, I could have read any number of books... okay, I could have had my WIFE read any number of books, and there would bee different ways to address love and attachment.  I'm sure there are ways to try to encourage the growth of trust as well... but I haven't read anything on it... or, my wife hasn't read anything on it and told me all about it.

But what can you do for trust?  I had thought of pointing out every trust worthy thing I did in a day...

• Hey Ping, remember when you were on the stairs, and I did NOT push you down them!?  Yea, see, I'm trust worthy!
• Ping, remember when you came home from school, and were banging on the door to let you in?  Yea, I totally let you in.  I didn't have to.  But you can trust me.  I opened the door.
• I TOTALLY didn't eat your Skittles!  Your Mom did.
• Remember when I said you were driving me crazy?!  Well, look!  I'm CRAZY!

Maybe that's a bad idea.  Maybe trust is just something that grows with time.  I can't force it.  Goodness knows I want to.  But each day, she trusts me more and more.  I'll just keep bring trust worthy, and maybe she will eventually believe me... you know, over some total stranger that she just met like Miss Y.

What's not to trust?!

But in the end, I know it is hard for her to trust, it is hard for anyone to trust who has been hurt before - sometimes a "wounded" perspective makes it hard to see how people may love you.  So am I going to worry about it?  Nah.  Will it hurt when I can see it plain as day that she doesn't trust me?  Yup.

But then I'll choose to see past that, to adjust MY perspective to see where she can and will be able to trust me.

Like when she gets scared at night, and calls out "Daddy, I'm scared of the dark!" - trusting that I will make it better.  I just remembered, before I started this post, she was crying about the dark saying she was scared... a great opportunity to help her confront her fears head on, and help her over come them, to build that bridge of trust between us... or, I may have simply told her something along the lines of "suck it up, you're fine!  Get back to bed."  

Hmmmm... and I wonder why we have trust issues... just... can't... figure it out...

My baby

Last Sunday we celebrated five years since our oldest child was placed in my arms in a hot room in southern China.  That means that I'm precisely five years and six days into this glorious adventure called motherhood.

The learning curve was vicious at first, but I've come a long way.  I feel that I can say I've come a long way with conviction.  You see, while I had these grandiose visions of instantly knowing all the answers before I was a mom,  along the way, it has become clear to me that I still have so, so much to learn.

And that sometimes, my kids teach me the most important lessons.

Take my youngest for example.  Or should I say my baby.  He has taught me volumes.

He ran into my arms ~ and therefore into my life ~ at nearly 35 months old.  He had been the apple of his foster mother's eye.  Because we were confident that he had been well loved in his younger days, my first instinct was to treat him as an older toddler instead of an infant.

But even though he was just shy of three, he wasn't ready to be a big boy yet.  And he let me know about it.

It started about two months after he came home ~ as soon as he had enough vocabulary to express himself.  Since then we've had a nightly post-bath ritual.  He gets out of the tub and immediately comes to find me.  Then he stands with outstretched arms while saying, "I baby Mommy!"  That is my signal to scoop him up into my arms and cradle him for a few minutes.



We spend the time looking into each other's eyes with him making little cooing noises. In that time it is just him and me, no distractions by siblings competing for my attention. Then, as quickly as it begins, he ends our bonding time with puckered lips (waiting for a kiss) and a wiggly, "Get down Mommy," and then he is gone, in search of his favorite Lightning McQueen pajamas.

The whole routine lasts just about two to three minutes a night.  But those sweet little moments are golden.  They have helped further cement our mother/son relationship and have given me back a precious time with him that I otherwise would have missed.

I'm so thankful he let me know that he still has a little baby left in him after all.  And that I had the insight to listen...

I'm Outta here!

4 out of 5 arguments are started over Barbie Dolls...

G:  Daddy!  DADDY!  Ping is trying to take my barbie doll!
Me:  What?  Ping, are you trying to take G's doll?
Ping:  No!
Me:  Really?  Because I see her doll in your hand.
Ping:  No!
Me:  Ping, I can see that you have G's doll.  Don't lie to your Daddy.
Ping:  Well G being no fair!
Me:  Why?  What is no fair?
Ping:  She no give me her doll.
Me:  Ping, before we got in the car for our long drive, what did Dad tell you to do?
Ping:  To get a toy for the drive.
Me:  Right.  And did Ping get a toy?
Ping:  No.
Me:  Alright, well, next time, listen to your Daddy and bring a toy.  Now, please give G back her doll.
Ping:  No.
Me:  Ping.  What did Daddy just say?
Ping:  Ooooohhhhhh... alright.  Here.
Me:  Thank you baby.
Ping:  But if you do that again, then THAT'S IT, I'm OUTTA here!
*I slowly pull the car over to the side of the road and turning around*
Me:  Baby, where are you gonna go?
Ping:  I go back to China!
Me:  China?  You will never be "outta here".  Daddy is never going to let you go, and even if you WANT to leave, you are going to be stuck with me forever.  Understand?  Forever!  You no go back to China.
Ping:  Okay.  *a big smile slowly crawls across her face*

I'm outta here!

... a little while later when we get home from Chinese School ...
Me:  Hey, you'll never guess what Ping said today.
Wife:  What?
Me:  She got mad because she got into a little bit of trouble, and she looks at me and says "That's IT, I'm OUTTA here!"  Isn't that hilarious!
Wife:  SHE said what?!  Oh that little ... stinker!  She said that because she knew it would hurt!  That was deliberate.
Me:  Eh, maybe, probably.  I just thought it was funny.  I told her she was stuck with me... she seemed to deal with that truth better than you did when you realized you were stuck with me.

Oh kids say and do the cutest things!  One of my fellow adoptive families told me the funniest story about how on their first night with their newly adopted 5 year old daughter - that their adorably cute precious daughter eyed up the father and make the "throat slashing" action while eying him down... and trust me, the "throat slashing" action means the same thing in Chinese as English.  :-)  Or how their daughter mimed pulling the pin of a grenade with her teeth before throwing it at her new father!

Laughing with Dad

Ahhhhh, good times.  :-)

I think being a parent sometimes requires having a thick skin - and a slightly skewed sense of reality.  I think if I actually believed that MY daughter wanted to be "outta here" that it would have really hurt.  Okay, it hurt.  It really did.  Even though I knew she was just trying to get me angry and didn't mean it.

And I knew she didn't mean it... because between the odd "throat slash", "grenade" or "outta here" moment, there are so many precious moments spent with them curled up in our arms, lying on the couch with us, playing barbies, and tender moments filled with "I love you"s.  And those great moments out weigh the bad moments more and more each day.

So, to all those parents out there who have read about the loss and attachment issues, do not despair - there is hope.  I have seen our precious Ping change from a defiant child struggling with loss and attachment into a sweet girl who curls up and snuggles in with me at bed time, who is the 1st child to the door to greet me when I return from work, whose 1st question she asks me in the morning is "Daddy, can we cuddle?"

Just a little cuddle Daddy?

Amidst the loss, hurt, pain and loneliness can be found joy, love, peace and family.

Our children have such capacity for either side of that statement - for my part, I hope I pour more of the latter into my children, but that can only happen if I choose not to hold onto the former.

A Way With Da Ladies

 Today's guest post is by our first contributor who isn't a mama... he is a baba. Adrian is father to four children, his youngest daughter adopted from China, and blogs at Forever Family.

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I know there are some stories of adoption out there, where the bonding between child and parent(s) is instant and wonderful! Yes, the heavens open up, doves fly down, and the whole world slows to a crawl as your new wonderful, beautiful child runs to your arms - clearly un-inhibited by the past - and falls softly into your chest as tears of joy roll down your cheeks!

This... was not... our adoption. At least, not for me and our daughter. Our scene was more like, the heavens opened up, doves flew down, the sounds of angels singing could barely be heard over the joyous sounds of laughter and our precious daughter looking up at me and my wife softly sighing the words Ma ma and Ba ba - and then quickly realising that although her new Ma ma was a true beauty to behold, her new Ba ba happened to be the Yeti incarnate! She quickly tried to find a wooden stake to drive though my heart, garlic, and a silver bullet to try to rid herself of me...

But that was OK (well actually, it hurt worse than anything else I’ve experienced, but that is for another post). I was prepared for this type of reaction... and I should thank my wife for that.

*begin wavy flash back to our wasted youths*

Friend: So, who do you like? Anyone right now?
Younger Version of Me: I kind am digg’n R right now.
Friend: For real! That is so cool! Hey, HEY R! Adrian LIKES you!

(younger future wife - R)

My Future Wife: What?! Adrian!? Ewwwww! I would never date Adrian!
Younger Version of Me: I’m right here! I can hear you, you know.
My Future Wife: I want a man who is manly - and strong!
Younger Version of Me: I have a very deep inner strength. Don’t take my lack of arguing and getting mad as a weakness. It takes much more strength to deal with things properly than it dose to explode and get mad! And hey, you know what, I’m from Flin Flon! I wrestle Bears Wrapped In Bacon!
My Future Wife: I want someone, who is macho - who will make my decisions.
Younger Version of Me: Well, I think that is kind of silly.
My Future Wife: I want someone who will order my food for me!
Younger Version of Me: But you haven’t told me what you like yet.
My Future Wife: I would NEVER date Adrian.
Younger Version of Me: I'm still right here!

(younger me)

My Future Wife: You are so not the man I want.
Younger Version of Me: But I might just be the man you need.

* end wavy flashback*

To say that my wife and I did not hit it off that great, would be an understatement. We met at a young age in Sunday School - but were only “friends”. But, I do have a way with da ladies! I wear ‘em down!

When we were young, and we were out with our friends, I would go to the other guys who had cars and ask them “not to give R a ride home” - because I liked her, and I wanted to give her a ride home. Then, after she was safely confined in my car, (after not being able to find anyone to give her a ride home), with no possible chance of escape, I would drive her home as slow as possible just to spend as much time as possible with her.

Now I know that might sound a little creepy... but hey, it worked! She fell in love with my rugged good looks, charming personality and my humor (some would add obvious denial of reality). Had it not worked out between us, I would have just been some creepy guy who kept threatening people not to give R a ride home, and stalking R all hours of the day... but never-the-less, it all worked out in the end.

(still wearing her down)

Now, what has that to do with our little Ping and our adoption?

Well, true to form, I did not hit it off so great with this new girl either. I was confident though that I would woo her and win her over! I would wear her down...

(Ping showing her playful side as she tries to stab me with a fork)

I’m sure Ping was sitting there, looking at me going, I want a Dad who is:

• less hairy
• less smelly
• more Chinese
• less hairy
• less loud
• less scary
• less tall
• less cuddly
• more further away

She was not impressed by me at all! It was only this last week (after being home with us for 8 months) where she crawled up into our bed, and without me saying anything, just wrapped her little arms around my neck and said “Daddy, I lub you!”

(still not impressed by me)

What a difference a few months can make. Just a little while ago, when she entered the bed room, she stood at the side of the bed and just stared at me. She would not come close. She would not climb up on the bed if I was there. And if I was there, and she really wanted her mother, she would walk a wide berth around the bed (keeping her eyes fixed on me, lest I try to reach out and touch her) and crawl in next to her Mother. If I tried to touch her, or hug her, or pick her up, or even talk to her... oh boy! Did I get a mouth full of Mandarin (I know a little Mandarin and I’m pretty sure nothing she said was covered in my “Introduction to Mandarin” classes - had I taken the “Swearing Like a Truck Driver” course, I’m sure I could have understood a little of what she was saying).

(just trying to get away)

But each day, I just loved her. I let her cry, yell at me, run away... what ever. She would say “Daddy, I NO love you!”, and I would say “That is OK, because I love you. Maybe tomorrow you will love Daddy?”, (“Maybe” she would reply, on a good day, normally it was “mmmmm, I tink abot it, an No!”).

I would hold her, talk to her, take her out one on one and have cake. I let her cry, listened to her babble. Held her when she was scared (even when she thought she was brave) and prayed for her every night. I tucked her into bed, and carried her when ever I could. I never demanded she love me, held it against her when she rejected me, or got angry when she pushed me away. And slowly, ever so slowly, I could see the chinks forming in her armour - and slowly, I knew I was winning her over... and I knew I would. Because, I have a way with da ladies.

(still wearing her down)

Current Wife: You know what, you were right all those years ago (like you are right about everything, ever, in all of ever-ness!)* - you really are the man I needed.
Current Me: Yup, I know. And don’t look now, but I’m also the man you wanted. I am able to order your favorite food when we go to a restaurant - because I have watched you, listened to you, and learned what you like and don't like (instead acting out in a macho manly way). I am able to help make decisions - because I have the needs of our family deeply routed in my heart (instead of making decision because “I’m the man!”). I am the type of man who dose the right thing, even though it is hard and requires great strength (instead of being the quick tempered man).

So maybe I wasn’t the man that my wife wanted...
... but I am the man she needed.


And maybe I wasn’t the Father that Ping wanted...
... but I know I’m the Father she needs.

(totally wearing her down!)

So to all the Dads out there (or Moms) out there struggling with attachment issues - it’s all good. Love will come around. You just have to have a way with da Ladies**!

* = Edited by me, but it was SO implied in the statement though.
** = Or, boys... if you adopted a son.

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About Forever Family...
We are a Christian family of 6 - pretty typical in that we are not typical at all. My wife and I have been married for over 13 years now, and have 4 children (so far). Our oldest child is our son K, who is 12 going on 30. Next in the line to the throne is our son D, who is 10, going on... well... 10.
Thankfully, after two boys, we had our first daughter, G who is 6 going on 16. 



And then came our beloved Ping, who is 4, and who thankfully has stopped yelling at me in Mandarin. Ping was adopted from the Waiting Child's Program from China. She was 4 years old when we brought her home, and yes, she has a "special need" (though you would be hard pressed to figure out what it is). So I guess *technically* that makes us an "Adoptive Family of an Older Child from the China Waiting Child Program with Special Needs".


But more importantly, what it *really* makes us, is a Family. 

Read more about our family at our blog here.

Explaining "I Did Not Love My Adopted Child" to My Very Real, Very Loved Daughter

A final guest post, contributed by KJ Dell'Antonia (aka Lola Granola). KJ is now a regular contributor at NHBO, so you'll hear from her monthly beginning this month.
KJ is a writer and mother to four children. Her youngest, Rory, was adopted from China in July 2009. She blogs about real life at Raising Devils.

In the the wake of the Torry Hanson case, I wrote a piece for Slate Magazine (where I’m a regular contributor to the DoubleX section) that my editors there titled “I Did Not Love My Adopted Child,” or, if you came to it from the first page, “I Didn’t Love My Foreign Adopted Kid at First, Either.” I liked the second title better – and actually proposed changing the first; I wanted to call it “Adoption Sucks – But that’s No Reason Not to Do It.” But the title held, and it worked – I don’t have any way of knowing exactly how many people read that piece, but certainly “a lot” is probably an understatement. And that’s exactly what I wanted. I wanted what I wrote to be as helpful to people as Melissa Fay Greene’s essay “Post-Adoption Panic” in the book A Love Like No Other was to me. I came back to her words so often in the difficult months after we brought Rory home that the book falls open to her pages. I treasure her description of her son: “a fit-throwing, non-English-speaking, snarling Bulgarian four-year-old,” and I recited, like a mantra, the advice she attributed to a friend “You can just pretend to love him... Just fake it.” That’s what I hoped for, and I think I succeeded – at the very least, I encouraged people to believe that it’s ok to work hard for the happy ending – but, of course, I have to live with my words, and their title, forever. And the big question, asked by everyone from commenters to friends to a caller on Talk of the Nation, is – how are you going to explain this to Rory?

I’m not sure I’ll have to – at least, not in the sense of her suddenly being confronted with this from out of the blue. Because the thing is, like Greene, I was faking it, and – because unlike Greene’s son Jesse, Rory had had a mother, a loving, devoted foster mother who I hope will always be a part of her life – I firmly believe that, at least on some level, Rory knew it. That’s what I think of, when I picture Rory reading my words. She knew I didn’t love her. And she knows I love her now. And I’m even more determined that by then she’ll know I’ll love her now forever.

She was there, after all. The awful truth is that, although she was every bit as miserable and anguished and angry as I described her, she was ready to love me, or at least to need me. She had just been torn away from everything she ever knew, and her foster mother told her to love me – to love us, to go to us, to adopt us as her own – and she was willing, probably because it was her only hope. I was the one who didn’t meet her halfway. She knows that there were moments when, as she sobbed hysterically (actually, with her, it was usually firetruck screams of rage) over something – no, she can’t play with my phone, no, she can’t drink all my coffee, no, she can’t stand on the trash can, no, she can’t flush the toilet over and over and over and over, no, Wyatt shouldn’t hit her but she hit him first, I saw her, no, she can’t just take Lily’s doll, no, that’s not her cookie, she already ate her cookie – and I knew, because I’m not stupid, because I DID read the books and I DID think about what we were doing and I DID think I was prepared – that she was really screaming about being taken away from everything she’d ever known and loved – she knows, in short, that there were moments when all she needed was comfort and I put her down and I walked away. Those were most emphatically not some loving moments.

And she knows that I don’t do that any more.

So what I think is that that’s part of our story. I’ll have to be sure to put words to what might have otherwise gone unspoken, and that forever, when we talk about that summer, it will be the summer when we were learning to love one another. That I will have to, when I talk about our becoming a family, use love the way I used it in the article – to mean our secure and ongoing connection. I will tell her that I was always committed to her, and that even in the hardest moments, I would never have sent her away, never have hurt her, never have let her have her world torn apart again, and I will tell her that I never meant to fail her, but I know that I sometimes did, and that the fact that we learned to love each other anyway will always be one of the abiding miracles of my life. I think our love will be even stronger for having all that out where we can see it and own it.

And it will also be the summer when she fell asleep on the tag-a-long and fell off the bike, and ate Doritos at the pool, and learned to swim and jumped off the diving board for the first time. Because, you know, I write about this a lot, and I think about this a lot, but mostly, we just live our lives. I didn’t love Sam the day he came home from the hospital nearly the way I love him now; I hated Lily for coming between me and Sam, and for all the fierce love I feel for Wyatt now, when he was a newborn I’d have left him by the side of the road if I’d had to do it to save Sam and Lily, who I’d known and loved for so much longer–and I write those words, and I don’t worry about them reading them someday. Love grows. That’s what it’s meant to do. And then it never, ever goes away.

A different family could tell a different story – I loved you before I met you; I loved you before you were born, I have always loved you. For me, that would mean that I loved the idea of my children as much as my children themselves. That’s not us, that’s not me, that’s not our story. That’s not what I mean when I use the word love. I did not love “my adopted child.” But oh, I love my daughter now.

So, thanks to everyone who cared enough about us, and our progress, to ask. I could say a lot more about this. I could write a whole book about it. Stay, I guess, tuned – but know that Rory went to bed tonight with a bunch of kisses, an extra hug and a smile on her face. Of course, when I said “I love you, good night,” she said “Meow,” but I didn’t take it personally. Everybody knows cats can’t talk.

The Dance

OK, I'll jump in with both feet here. Attachment is hard work. There, I said it. Now that we have that (or rather now that I have it) on the table, I will just jump in with both feet. But first, a bit of housekeeping as I like to call it on my blog. No, this is not my normal posting day (yes Stefanie has a schedule for us which I very much appreciate with my Type-A personality), but I … ahem … missed my last scheduled day due to a momentary hissy fit if you will. Seriously, I have run the gamut of emotions on this latest adoption journey we've found ourselves on … and some of them have not been pretty. Alas I feel I'm back on my feet … at least for the moment … and I just have some things I need to put down. Perhaps they will be helpful to someone else.

Why the title? The Dance.

Well I am not a dancer per se. I mean, The Prez and I have had our share of slow dances, especially back in the day when what we would wear to the next high school dance was the biggest worry I had. Seriously folks. Yeah, The Prez and I have been dancing for over 20 years now in one form or another. But I digress. When I think of dancing, I think of one person being in the lead and the other following. Except sometimes, when the people dancing are not sure of their footing or even their hand holding feels a bit unnatural … well the dance can look quite comical and perhaps both people feel it is a bit forced too.

Sound familiar?

This thing us adoptive parents refer to as attachment reminds me of an awkward dance at times where we are just doing the motions, but our heart doesn't seem to be in it. Other times, it feels so fluid that we think I could soak in this moment forever and never move from this spot. Even if my arms feel like they will just go numb and fall off, I'll stay like this as long as she is snuggled in and relaxed and completely abandoned to the moment, fully TRUSTING, fully embracing the love I have for her.



I sometimes doubt we'll ever get there. I am confident the attachment dance is going well in our home with our little girl. But it is hard work. She still struggles at times with complete trust. I don't blame her. She has been let down a LOT. In the photo above and below, for the first time in 18 months home and after many failed attempts, this past Easter Sunday she REALLY trusted me to push her on this tire swing in our backyard. And she swung with total abandon. Total trust that Mommy would not push her too hard, would stop the swing if she said, "Stop, Mommy!" and would giggle along with her as she enjoyed the moment with complete abandon. It was quite the dance that day as she swung and Mommy pushed and started and stopped the tire swing more times than I could count … each time savoring the huge smile that overtook her face.

Me knowing she was completely trusting … her knowing that I was completely trustworthy.


As the dances continue, some not as magical as the one that day, I have just learned to accept that sometimes the song playing in the background doesn't seem to fit the moment, or the moment doesn't seem to fit the song. But we find our groove and the dance continues. And if the music stops, we start it over again. Or sometimes, we don't have any music at all. And we just wait until she is ready to dance again.

In the night when her wakings arouse the grief and terror all over again, that is when the dance can be the hardest. Who wants to dance at 2 a.m.? I almost laugh (except I know the gravity of their ignorance) when I read pre-adoptive parents considering the 3-4-year-old range "because they don't want to go back to the middle-of-the-night wakings of babies." I can't recall a whole week—a whole seven days straight—where I've not been awakened by her cries in the last year and a half. Yes, the dance continues in the wee hours of the night. It has improved: our wee-hour dance, but she still needs that specific dance at times.

My favorite dance is the one that comes out of nowhere, where she comes totally unexpected and says, "I Love You Mommy." And then she wants some cuddle time … and as quickly as she appears, she is finished with the dance. But I realize that particular two minutes in time was oh so worth the wait and oh so worth the wee hours dance that led us to that dance.

As we are getting so close (that I can almost taste it) to embarking on yet another journey halfway around the world to a son, I know there will be dances. I wonder what type of music his heart will need. I wonder how many times we'll step on each other's toes as we try to find the groove. I wonder how the dance will look 18 months from now. I told someone just yesterday that I almost wish I could push the fast forward button and skip the first six months home. But then I realize I would miss so many dances: those first, awkward dances where you often just go through the motions because the EMOTIONS are not there or you're just not feeling them in that moment. But you go through the motions because as parents, we never want to miss out on an opportunity to dance the attachment dance with our children.

In those moments where you just go through the motions, I think those are the moments where often the "heart" work is most evident. It is easy to dance when our heart is feeling the groove. When it is not, it takes real HEART and hard work. So we dance on knowing that as the dance continues, so does the work in our own hearts and theirs. And we find our groove. And in some of the most magical moments, we do feel like instead of being a spectator watching the world revolve around … we feel like the world is revolving around us.

That Rare, Highly Desirable Commodity: Me.

A guest post, contributed by KJ Dell'Antonia (aka Lola Granola). KJDA is a writer (for numerous publications) and is mother to four children. Her youngest, Rory, was adopted from China in July 2009. She blogs about life at Raising Devils.

It has been a rough trip, these last six or seven months, and there were times when I thought I'd never look at Rory and feel just unadulterated happiness. I thought I'd always see the shadow of the things I had trouble with -- the way her arrival changed our family, the way it affected my relationship with the other kids, the fear I had that letting her fully into the family would somehow weaken the bonds I already had. There were a lot of things that helped: time, watching this little pumpkin struggle with leaving her foster family, and suddenly realizing that what seemed like sheer deviltry was Rory struggling in a different way, and watching a friend bring home a child Rory's age, and -- another realization -- figuring out that adopting a three-year-old meant both making the adjustments you would for a baby, and making totally different adjustments. Not, unfortunately, making fewer adjustments -- which I think is honestly what we'd thought. In other words, this was totally new and it was ok for it to be hard.

Which it was.

But we got there. Therefore all should be right and all things in the world should be of a happy rightness, except when they're not. But now that we're all in good shape -- rolling along as a family, thinking more about speech therapy and soccer than about bonding and adjusting -- I just want to be there. But not Rory -- she wants to revel in it. Which means that every time I kiss her or love her up, she follows me around, touching me, leaning on me, every gesture asking for more. I try, I do. It's not like I put out limits -- sorry, only six hugs a day for you! -- it's just that I lose patience. I am not by nature a person of great snuggliness, and I am a person of a natural business, and I just -- look, if I walk into the bedroom to put a book on the nightstand and then turn around and trip over you, I'm going to be frustrated, ok? I am not that interesting. You do not have to follow me quite that closely!

Then I feel like the dysfunctional boyfriend -- oh, no, I only love you if you don't call me. I draw her in, she asks for more, I push her away.

I know -- I should grow up, and give a little, huh? I swear I do. But her well seems so bottomless just now. That's a sad fact that makes me want to fill it, but I don't know how much I've got. Today I sat down, and she sat on my lap, or curled next to me, for a solid hour and twenty minutes, patting me very gently, snuggling my arm, twisting my earrings. I tried to think of it as like nursing a baby -- I certainly put in these kinds of hours under the other three -- and that helped, some. But Rory didn't get up until I got up, and I know she was disappointed. I know Rory loves me, and her new family, but some new mother would have had it in her to just let Rory soak and bask in her love and physical affection. Instead, poor Rory got this used-up model, happier wiping counters and baking cookies than pinned in under a child that really needs a snuggle. I'm going to do what I can to give her this. I just don't think even the very most I can give -- even when I, as a friend said to me recently, "put on my big girl pants" and do the right thing -- is going to be as much as she needs.

Today I found myself setting boundaries. I love you, I said, so very much, but I'm not going to snuggle just now. And then -- I love you, but I need this much space (as demonstrated with hands) just for me -- because she was hovering, not snuggling, but as close as she could possibly be, and with hands out, fingering my magazine, touching my drink.

How awful is that, really? I love you, but snuggle time is over? I love you, but you need to be farther away from me now? I feel bad just writing it. Horrible. But I am who I am, and I can snuggle for a while, and then stop, or I can snuggle reluctantly until I just can't take it any more, and all patience for the day is gone. I know she needs me. I know she needs this physical affection. I am trying.

I don't think I realized how tough it would sometimes be to try.

No hands but mine?

This summer will mark the 5th and 4th anniversaries of our girls adoptions and, as of this writing, I've never spent one single night away from them.

Okay, that's not entirely true. I did spend the night at the hospital with Maddy when she had her surgery and Gwen stayed home with Daddy. It wasn't a good night for her and it ended with lots of crying and vomit. Naturally, Daddy's not in a hurry to repeat the experience so it looks like I'll never be able to spend a night away. I'm not complaining about missing "Mom's Night Out" with my girlfriends. I'm just sorry to miss friends weddings and funerals and other big life events. If money and time weren't a factor, I could take the whole family to these things but obviously money and time are factors.

I guess my question is: How can they ever learn that "Mommy always comes back" if Mommy never leaves?

Donna
Double Happiness

The Shirt and Her Finger: Self-Soothing Comes Full Circle

I was scrolling back through the photos … photos I was given by someone, someone who cares about our daughter.

I saw a detail I never noticed before. I think I have always stopped at her face. It says so much, too much for a little girl of 2 years old to understand. So much heartbreak, so much hurt, so much fear, so much trauma.

At the time this photo was taken, we were still awaiting our LOA for her adoption, and she was living out the most unimaginable over there. She had been in the hospital for weeks at this point, though we would not find that out until months after we came home. I have many more photos that I will not share, but one can piece together so much from them. Photos do tell stories.

You all are probably wondering what is the detail I noticed? It is jumping out at me now. Notice her little index finger on her left hand, tucked just inside her shirt.

I am filled with a mixture of deep and soul-aching sadness over this detail, because I now know what this action on her part means. I now know that it is a soothing technique for her. I now know that she does this still, except now she tucks her little index finger on her left hand inside my shirt. It used to be that she would tuck it just inside her blanket, but recently she started laying her head restfully on my shoulder and tucking her finger into my shirt.

The attachment process has been a journey these past 15 months with her home; it still is a journey that we don't expect will ever quite reach a stopping point.

She has endured so much, so much I just can't bear and do not ever care to share. She has endured more than most of us ever will in a lifetime: so much loss, so much pain, so much grief, so much fear, so much of this ALONE.

I can't blame her for keeping her guard up for so long. Why would she not? I nearly cringe when I see other blogs of APs who come home to big parties and pass the child around just days after coming home. Or reading about how the child won't sleep and how long should parents let them cry it out. Or reading about the child's need to eat all the time, and how this is just not going to be allowed. Or wondering if they should disallow their child from sucking their thumb or using some other sort of self-soothing technique. We never even thought of discouraging our daughter from sucking on her 3 fingers on her right hand or from holding on so tightly to her own little shirt and blanket with that index finger. How could we have done that? It was all she had for so long.

It is no wonder she has taken this journey to allowing us all in, and one that continues to this day. It is no wonder she will take out one of her brothers if he playfully attempts to snag one of her gold*fish. It is no wonder that she wanted to soothe herself for so long.

What other choice did she have for 3 years? She had to fight off others for her food, she had to brave it out in the hospital for weeks on end with no Mommy or Daddy there to hold her hand as they inserted the adult-sized needles in yet another place on her tiny hands and feet. She had to longingly tug at her own shirt with her little index finger as she drifted off to sleep alone.

Yes, unwinding that defensive little solitary person inside and helping and encouraging her to be the little child God created her to be … helping her learn to trust and to love unconditionally and to accept unconditional love … it takes time … and understanding … and tears … and steps forward … and a patient heart when she needs to take a step back. And a soft place for her to lay her head and tuck in that little index finger … knowing that finally she'll never have to face the storms of life alone again.

This post is really not one that is neatly finished and tied up with a pretty bow, because life sometimes just isn't neat or pretty.

Virtual Twins (Artificial Twinning)

Six months after we came home from China with our first daughter (Gwen), someone on our Agency's message board announced their 2nd referral: A cute baby with a beaming smile and a very minor cleft palate. A few days later, they updated to say that they'd refused the referral because she was only 2 weeks younger than their first daughter.

I called our agency to find out more about Special Needs adoptions and got a referral right on the spot when they offered us this same little girl. Now we had our own questions about adopting a toddler who was just 5 weeks younger than our (newly adopted) Gwenny. We spent the weekend searching our heart and the internet about the merits and perils of virtual twinning (aka artificial twinning) and we got plenty of advice. More than we could actually process! But, in the end, we weighed the pros and cons and ultimately decided that having virtual twins wasn't that much different than having actual twins. We understood that all children require a leap of faith so we took the leap and called our agency back and accepted her. Six months later, she was home with us.

You can see pics from Maddy's adoption <here>. That was summer of 2006 and here's a picture from just a week ago (that's Gwen "helping" Maddy clap her hands). This is the only life they know and even though we remember what life was like before our "twins", they can't remember a time that they weren't sisters.

Obviously we can't imagine making a different choice and wouldn't ever wish to go back and do things differently. But that doesn't mean we've not learned a thing or two.

Here's what we've learned:

• We thought it would be cool to have twins.
  Wrong. It's interesting but it's not cool. It's not even, especially, fun.
  
• It's annoying when people ask if they're twins because it either requires that we lie (and say they are twins) or explain that they're adopted and not biologically related. That's more information than we're comfortable sharing with strangers but we don't like to lie so we're stuck. The other option is to say "No, they're not twins" and walk away before they can ask the obvious follow-up question.
  
• Even though it's fun to dress them alike, it makes the twin question come up even more so we don't usually do that. At age two, they were the same height and weight but now they're five years old and Gwen is 25 pounds heavier and four inches taller than Maddy. But people still ask if they're twins -- and it's still annoying.
  
• Every child deserves to be the baby of the family but Maddy never got that and I feel bad about it. I think she'd have been happier if her "big" sister was at least one or two years older instead of just 36 days older. I think I would have cut her more slack too. This isn't a minor point -- it's HUGE.
• Bonding with Maddy was harder because she was the same age as our Gwen. Love isn't something that happens immediately so there was a gap because I already loved my other kids. I was, understandably, very protective of them and that interfered with bonding because Maddy was frequently mean to her "twin" (biting, hitting, etc). Oh boy -- we had LOTS of that! I found that many of my maternal instincts were working overtime against eachother for the first six months that we were together. When I wasn't actively angry at Maddy, I was consumed with guilt over ever having been mad at her in the first place.
  
• For better or worse, I find that I'm constantly comparing the girls. My expectations of what one "should" be able to do is based on what the other is doing. Whether it's coloring inside the lines or knowing her ABC's or reading words or riding a bike or being dry all night - the skill comparisons and expectations are there so I have to constantly struggle to not send signals that I'm disappointed when one can't do what the other is doing. They each have wonderful strengths that are uniquely their own. But they also have shortcomings that are amplified because their sibling is a living breathing walking measuring stick of what a kid that age can do. Even though I'm very aware of this "comparing the kids" trap, I fall into it often.
  
• It's really convenient to have the kids in the same grade at the same school and in the same age league for sports (even if they're not in the same class or on the same team). It's soooo nice not to have to run all over the place to get a kid to school (or home) at different times.
  
• I don't think I'll ever put my virtual twins in the same class or on the same sports team and their teachers and coaches will thank me for that.
  
• It's fun that they are the same age because it's easier for them to share interests and play together. Although they fight pretty constantly at home, they get along better when we're away on vacation and that makes it really fun to go places with them. This is in sharp contrast to our son, Michael, who was an "only child" for almost all of his childhood and was bored to death on family vacations.
  
• All the stuff we thought they'd share, they don't. They don't wear the same size clothes or shoes or want to share a room and they have polar opposite personalities and interests. Even so, if we buy one of them a toy, we'd better buy the other one the same toy or they'll fight over it until our ears bleed and we weep for mercy.
  
• When we buy two identical toys, they usually show no interest in them at all. I think the battle over the toy is half of the fun? Hmm... well I guess that makes them more like SIBLINGS than twins, huh!

nurturing attachment

I recently was referred to this article by Deborah Gray and found it very helpful as we adjust to life with our newly adopted toddler.

Top Ten Tips For the First Year Of Placement

For those who are adopting an older child (2+ years), Susan Ward has also offered ten suggestions to assist you during the adjustment period with your child:

1. Reduce Sensory Overload

Usually, we're so excited to have our child, our dream fulfilled, that we want to do all the things we've imagined. To the park, out to dinner, to visit grandparents, to birthday parties, to the neighborhood barbecue.

STOP!

Just being in your home is sensory overload for your child. New food, new smells, new rules, and if they're from another country - new language, new customs. Keep their lives boring for the first few weeks, if not months.

2. Create Structure and Routine

Your child needs to wake up each day and know that certain things happen every day: mom wakes me up with a song, breakfast is at 6:30, we read books before bed. And they need to know that there are weekly regular activities: we have dinner at Grandma's on Tuesday, we eat pizza and watch a video every Friday night.

3. Assume Your Child is Younger Than They Are

Until you know your child, assume they are several years younger than they are. Limit their choices, restrict their freedoms, play little kid games. Whether they came from foster care or an orphanage, there may be developmental, social, and psychological "steps" that they missed. By treating them a few years younger for a time, you reduce any pressures they're feeling and allow them to live and learn from the stages they missed.

4. Re-Parent

You and your new child have missed out on the baby and toddler interactions that occur between parent and child. To help facilitate bonding, and to allow your child to enjoy these phases, re-parent your child. Rock them, sing lullabies, read nursery rhymes, feed them baby food, and give them a bottle. Even much older children often have a need to pass through these stages with their new parents.

5. Assume Your Child Has Attachment Issues

Attachment issues can be connected to in-utero issues, disruptions in caregiving, or multiple placements. Until you know otherwise, treat your child as if they have some level of attachment issues. Read Daniel Hughes' book, Building the Bonds of Attachment, and implement his strategies. In the end, if your child does not have attachment issues, you still will have facilitated a smooth integration into your home, and have secured a tight attachment between the two of you.

6. Give Your Child Chores

Within a few days of being home, give your child appropriate regular chores. This helps them to feel needed, gives you something to compliment them on, helps them to learn that everyone in a family has responsibilities, and adds to the structure in their daily lives.

7. Implement Consequences For Their Actions

Depending on your child's personality, temperament, and background, they will test you a little or a lot. It's their way of learning where the boundaries are, as well as confirming that your commitment is real. Teach them the rules and the related consequences, and be consistent about implementation. Whether you use timeout, removal of privileges, or extra chores as consequences, stick to them for each and every infraction.

8. Have Fun

If everything is going smoothly, it's easy to have fun with your child. If, however, they're over-stimulated, acting horribly, refusing to follow the rules, and have attachment issues, it's hard to like your child, let alone have fun with them. Do everything possible to find moments to laugh together, share a giggle, or play a game. It will remind you of your child's great qualities, and help your child to understand that life is a blending of varying emotions and different activities.

9. Time For You

We forget. We're excited to spend time with our new child. Their behavior is so horrible we can't leave them with a babysitter. Remind yourself that you have to have time to yourself. If you're not rested, positive, and strong, it's impossible to be a good parent. Take a walk. Soak in the tub. Go out to dinner. Spend the night in a hotel. Just do it!

10. Time

Your adjustment period with your child may last a month, six months, or a couple of years. Unfortunately, many things relating to becoming a new family just take time. Your child arrived with years of experiences, good and bad, before they entered your life. And you joined your child after years of your own experiences, again good and bad. It takes time to blend and mesh your personalities, interests, and expectations. Be patient!


© 1999, Susan M. Ward