Because sometimes things are really good

He’d only been home maybe a week or so. I walked into the boys’ bedroom and saw the crayon scribbles on the wall and all over the dresser. Normal kid stuff.  I sat down to talk to him, in very simple English, about not coloring on the walls. That’s the first time I saw it. It’s etched in my memory forever. The fear. He was shaking. Tears welled up in his eyes. He was not there. He had retreated inside of himself to a place where he was safe. This protected him from the horrible things that he had experienced, a life I had not yet learned anything about.

This routine would continue for years. It was hard to watch, hard to be a part of. I tried not to take it personally. Eventually it started making me angry. I went through years of blaming myself, hating myself for the reaction that I caused my son every time he did something naughty. He flinched when I came near him. He retreated to his inner world sometimes more than he was with us. Eventually we had the diagnosis of PTSD and an attachment disorder, but neither of those prevented me from feeling like it was me. After all, his reactions were in response to ME. It wore on my heart and my mind so heavily.

I would sit in his therapists’ office asking her what was wrong with me. Why didn’t I feel the way I was supposed to feel about my child? He was the darling of the orphanage. Everyone adored him. I was obviously a horrible, terrible, evil, miserable person if I didn’t wake up each and every day excited to parent this child. I dubbed myself an “orphan hater” to jokingly disguise the turmoil I was feeling inside. And I didn’t dare tell anyone. Oh no.  That would be the worst thing I could do. They would just confirm everything that I already believed about myself.

Then one day a dear therapist friend (with experience with children and trauma) said words that become my safety when it all got too bad inside: “You cannot attach to a child with an attachment disorder. Attachment takes two people.” I had read much on attachment. So many books to tell me everything I was doing wrong.  Why didn’t anyone tell me this? Why were these words, words that gave me peace and sadness at the same time, so absent? I finally just accepted a forced and sometimes strained relationship. I grieved a great deal, for his future and for a loss of hope. I gave up the fight.

Months ago we started seeing glimmers. I went to his parent/teacher conference and his teacher told me that he talks about the new baby all the time. What? He didn’t show much interest at home.  Then it started at home. He’d lie on the floor next to the baby reading book after book. If she fussed he’d quickly choose a new book , convinced that she just didn’t like that book. He’d do this daily for as long as she could stand. I’d peer around the corner watching them. It was all so natural, so easy.

The glimmers continued. He was allowing himself to get bad grades. (Woohoo!) He even talked back to me. (Woohoo!) His communication and body language was becoming more natural and less contrived. I was seeing a new boy. He was suddenly no longer the people pleaser. He was just……him. He was the boy I always saw deep down inside that I wanted to know so desperately for so long. The people that fawned over him for years, I always wanted to tell them that what they were fawning over wasn’t real….there was something so much better deep down inside. There was an amazing young man that had more to offer the world. What they were seeing was a scared little boy that simply became whatever it was that he thought they wanted him to be. No more. That scared little boy was dying away and it was becoming more and more clear.

This past weekend we played Risk together as a family and one by one children were sent to bed (Risk brings out the worst in people and that often results in time outs. In your bed. For the rest of the night. This is why we don’t play Risk often. And I won’t again until my kids are old enough to drink, but I digress.) My newly confident young man was the only one left at the table. He made a witty comment about what blood thirsty heathens the rest of the kids were. We laughed together…naturally. It was one of the most joyful exchanges of my life.

That very first crayon on the walls incident happened exactly five years ago. We are just now truly building a real relationship together. His fear and loss have certainly not just gone away. No. That will be a lifelong battle. But his therapist remarked the other day, “He seems so joyful, so real. He is finally trusting.” Five long years. Those years broke me apart and made me different in ways I haven’t even discovered yet. I can’t wait to see our relationship grow. I can’t wait for his next joke. I can’t wait for his next sarcastic comment. I can’t wait for the next time he looks at me and smiles.  The light at the end of the tunnel just got a lot bigger.

Nature verus nurture: Ha. Ha. Ha.

This is my baby. She is four months old. Yeah, she’s pretty cute. We like her. She’s also pretty demanding. Don’t get me wrong, she’s one of the happiest little beings on the earth……as long as she’s getting her way and has people showering her with affection. I know what you’re saying, “Ummm….all babies are like that.” No they’re not. You have no idea what you’re talking about. This baby….she’s going to have opinions and lots of them. I see that spark, that scowl. Now you’re saying, “My God. Not one of these people.” Listen here! I know what I’m talking about.

Last week we had parent-teacher conferences at the elementary school. My two younger kiddos all had good grades so I went to the conferences expecting to walk away feeling like the greatest parent under the sun.  Instead I walked out saying to myself: “Why does it even matter? It’s hopeless. SOBBBB!”

 Let me start with the mini-me, my 3^rd grader. Once I told a therapist that this child was just like me. She scowled and implied I wasn’t treating my son as an individual. She can officially shut up. What did my parents hear at my parent teacher conferences? “She’s sloppy.” “She puts in minimal effort.” “She could do great things if she actually put some work into it.” “There’s so much potential there.” Certainly I could raise my kids to not be this way. I live in the era of child psychology and infant slings! I am so much wiser than my parents! What did I hear at my son’s parent teacher conference? “He’s sloppy.” “He puts in minimal effort.” “He could do great thing if he actually put some work into it.” “There’s so much potential there.” Nature – 1. Nurture – 0.

Then we went to talk to the conference of my husband’s mini-me, our 1^st grade daughter. What did my mother-in-law hear when my husband was in 1^st grade? “He talks a lot.” “He finishes his assignments but doesn’t turn them in. It’s perplexing.” “He falls out of his desk.” What did we hear from our child’s teacher? “You see that desk way over there away from everyone? That’s where your daughter sits for now until she can learn to stop talking all the time. Oh, and this is a stack of thirteen assignments I found in your child’s desk. They are done and she never turned them in.” The teacher did not give us any information on our child’s issues with gravity. I assume this was because she felt sorry for us. My daughter informed us the next day of her tendency to randomly fall from desk to floor. Nature – 2. Nurture – 0.

While I didn’t walk away from parent-teacher conferences feeling like the greatest parent under the sun, I walked away with an appreciation for who my kids are. I cannot change them, just like my mother couldn’t change me and my mother-in-law couldn’t change my husband. We are who we are. I don’t need to fight or reprimand. I just need to enjoy. Talk about a whole lot of weight taken off my shoulders.

This little baby is lucky. Her mom has learned through experience that there isn’t a whole lot that can be done to turn an individual with my or my husband’s genetic makeup into a Rhode’s Scholars, or Nobel Prize winning physicists, or Gandhi.  There’s every chance of them becoming sarcastic and argumentative and gloriously happy with the simple little life that’s ahead of them.

I’m thankful for the six people that the universe has entrusted me with. They are neat (and very challenging) people. It’s through learning to love and accept their unique and special personalities that I've learned to love and accept my own challenging personality. Kids are great like that.