Transitions

 Life is short. Time moves on. People change. The list of how to get through life's most difficult times is rife with cliches. I am living proof that cliches might work but somehow, I truly feel it was dogged determination to meet a God set goal. Through many prayers, dropped off meals, tear laden phone calls and a few kicks in the pants, all of the children reached the great age of 18!

Now, life is different-calmer, easier, gentler, much more predictable and, almost, fun at times. The problematic start to several of our children still haunts them but, my husband and I now act as guides. The two young men still abide with us but it is different. Assisting young adults towards unknown goals does not involve school meetings, in home therapy or multiple visits to health care offices each week. At last, we are both looking for meaning in other aspects of life.

Not in the too distant path, my dad linked me up with poetry written by his mom. I am now putting those poems together and will share her insights into life. It has been blessing to get to know this stranger through her writings, gaining understanding into her difficult life laced with tragedy. 

I am looking forward this new adventure as I transition from one part of life to the next. But, take heed. This part of my life would not be what it is without every part coming before it. I am, as you will be also, a sum total of all the parts-good, bad, happy, sad, tragic, sweet-of a life well lived as God intended.

S-T-R-E-T-C-H-I-N-G

Observations of a serial mom:  Over the last month, I have surprised myself.  Having spent many years on this earth, I can get complacent in my day-to-day life.  However, this month has proven that I am still able to s-t-r-e-t-c-h.  First, I had to turn the helm of the family sloop over to the co-captain while I worked full-time for a week.  This may seem trivial to some, but I am an old-fashioned mom and homemaker and this is always a stretch for me.  During the week, my sickest patient did NOT die--81 with acute infection and acute renal failure--and the week went surprisingly smooth.  
The next week was what has become known in our home as "wild birthday week."  I found out I could put together 4 birthdays and all seemed to enjoy their special days.  I learned that lava cakes baked a little too long are just really good and moist chocolate cakes (sorry, Will).  I learned that making (and eating) chocolate whipped cream is something that I have been missing all these years!  I used jello to color and flavor some frosting and found out that is NOT a good idea but the KoolAid flavored frosting was actually pretty good!
My favorite (ok, 2nd favorite next to the chocolate whipped cream) was, of course, the apple crisp for the last birthday of the week.  No surprises there except when dad walked in for dinner and found out we were celebrating his birthday a few days early!
I was able to enjoy the stretching the last month has brought.  Given the challenges of the last several years, It was nice to finally have some challenges that were just plain fun.  I think I will need to weave some of these more fun challenges into the difficulties of my life.  I think I will also need to work in some more bike time to be able to only stretch and not grow!

Christmas Letter 2011

Christmas 2011

I have decided that Christmas letters can be somewhat of a sham and have not sent one out for a few years (although, I do enjoy Jeff Berns’ Christmas update each year, he is a very amusing man). So, if I were to go back to writing a Christmas letter, it would reveal the true, day in and day out life that the Longprés are currently experiencing…a no holds barred, bare facts look at life. So, here it is…

Sorry this is late, but in true Longpré fashion, it is not late until the end of the month in which the holiday occurs. By the way, we celebrate “Little Christmas” or “Kings Day” on January 6, so per family rules, I am actually early!

We had a few milestones this year. In December, the 14^th to be exact, I was 1 year from the day the state of Idaho declared me a “minimally sufficient parent.” This was as a result of a witch hunt by the state to justify the thousands of dollars they are pouring into the Longpré adopted children and why these “minimally affected” children are still having problems. Now, they used much bigger words, some of them not repeatable and spent many thousands of dollars taking me to court 4 or 5 times. However, I have not changed my “minimally sufficient” parenting and will continue to hold the state accountable for their heinous actions that left these children with their birth parents. By the way, the state was the only entity that felt I was not doing a good job, so kudos to the team that stood behind myself and my family…the list is too long to publish here.

Ray and I have now been married 30 years. Each year I joke and say, “I want the money from the bets that were taken at the wedding thinking I was pregnant (disproved that theory) or that it wouldn’t last.” I need to put some flooring in my new family room and the money was large. I won’t mention any names, you know who you are… But seriously, we are still plodding along, looking forward to retirement and having the house to ourselves in 10 or so years. Our church is still allowing us to have some influence. We have taken what we have learned and turned into a Special Needs Ministry. We also are kid bouncers for the kids Sunday School singing time—we try to keep them in by promising to stop our singing!

Erich moved into a home about a mile from ours—still seems to sniff out “steak” night at our home. He has a lovely wife and cute daughter, who is now 2. She is the apple of our eye, looks a lot like Carolyn did at that age, and will be a big sister in April. Erich is working his father’s dream job at the Big 5 and trying to complete his Master’s Degree in Counseling.

Carolyn, now over 21, is a dental assistant who is working as a food server at the local retirement home. She is trying to find full time employment and move out of the beehive that is home. She desires to have finished walls, less noisy upstairs neighbors, a shorter line at the bathroom and electrical outlets in her room. On the plus side, she doesn’t pay rent, insurance or a car payment, so it all evens out.

Will, 19, is looking for the perfect employment situation. He is also starting school to become a pharmacy technician. He is struggling with his mother’s poor genetics and has to deal with his health on an all too frequent basis. He too would like to move out, but living upstairs with electrical power, right across from the bathroom and having no car payment make it too difficult to leave.

Tim, 15, is in high school. He attends LifeSkills class and is currently working at the local food bank a few hours per week. If he could play video games for a living, he would be rich. He is very content to watch movies, play video games and humor his mom by sliding down the slide at the community pool. He loves to talk about cars or the latest fact filled book he has read. He lives in the room right next to Carolyn and tends to not pay attention to who he is annoying.

Hope is 10, in 5^th grade and is learning how difficult being a survivor of trauma can be. She is dealing with the poor choices of the original trusted adults in her life. We continue to work with our trusted advisors to seek out the best for Hope. As she enters adolescence, she is realizing how different she is from her peers. We will continue to work on her strengths and pray for contentment in her mind.

Anna, 9, 4^th grade, also struggles with the past. Her intelligence, however, is allowing her to move beyond very slowly and we have seen some progress in the last year. She endured the state’s investigation of her and me and that seemed to bring out some maturity we hadn’t seen before. She is about to surpass her 18 month older (and 2 times bigger) sister and that is not sitting well with the sister!

Benj, 8, is our biggest trial but also has the farthest journey to travel. Apparently, alcohol during pregnancy (not mine) causes “holes” in your brain. Things drain out through those holes including manners, self-control and common sense. He continues to challenge both Ray and I on a daily basis. We are blessed to have an understanding team surrounding us. He is one of the kids that is receiving benefit from the new ministry in which Ray and I are involved.

The dog, Holly (who looks like my old dog Muffy), is still alive, about 9 years old and now snores. She sleeps with Will, though, so it doesn’t bug me. She loves to play in the snow, literally scoops it up on her snout and throws it. It is a blast to watch. Other than that, she pretty much just sleeps and barks.

My dad, bless his heart, still comes to dinner three times a week. He enjoys chatting with Felicity (Erich’s 2 year old) so I sit them next to each other. They have eating contests, especially on steak night. Felicity usually wins. She really likes steak and Pop-Pop thinks she is the cutest little girl in the world!

I said my final good-bye to my dear Aunt Hilde (99) and Grandma Bernice (92) this year. Both were incredible ladies and lived lives that were, by any standard, amazing. This world is poorer, but Heaven is richer.

So, that is life at the Longpré home. Add some health problems on my part (2 MRIs and 1 surgical consult later, now waiting for 2 more appointments to decide what is the next step) and things can get interesting. On the other hand, God promised never to give us more than we can handle, but He didn’t say how close He would bring us.

May you have a blessed 2012, filled with health, job security, faith in a risen Savior and satisfaction of a life well spent. Please know that I am praying for you and look forward to updates on your life, including annual Christmas letters. But please, feel free to share the good and bad, the things that go right and the things that go wrong. Some of us need to hear that others’ lives are not perfect, just like mine!

Donna and crew

Tri-athlemom

Today marks the Ironman here in our fair part of the world. 2000+ athletes plunge into an icy cold mountain lake for a refreshing swim, then, hop on their bikes to ride the winding roads and, finally, run for a few miles to round out the experience. The competitors come for a variety of reasons—to prove they are the best, to boldly go where few have gone before, to confirm they can conquer a personal demon. The one thing they all have in common is…the finish line. All of them want to see it, to cross it, to languish in the victory that is on the other side.

What few people realize is some of us run that race every day. We start out day early--maybe not to the shot of a starter pistol—but early nonetheless. It may be a door or window alarm, an argument between kids or the sound of liquid flowing where it shouldn’t—and that is just the start. From there, it is on to the urine wars followed by room decontamination (from the afore mentioned urine) and the inevitable “I won’t eat that” for breakfast (sensory issues occur randomly!). The race continues throughout the day and includes a variety of side games including shoe dodging, poo scraping, “where’s B(7) now” and, the ever popular “which appointment am I racing to.”

Given the huge emotional needs these kids have, we must stay attune to the ever-changing moods and potentially harmful interactions. As role models and security guards, we are ever mindful of our actions, reactions and distractions. One wrong move, one step off the path, and our race turns uphill with scree and rain confounding our progress. Sometimes, it feels as if a landslide has occurred and we have no bulldozer to move the rocks. Bedtime finally rolls around, the sweetness of silence punctuated only by the thump, thump, thump of feet making their curtain calls—water, insomnia, desire to talk about their past.

The tri-athlete, by midnight, will have called it a day—either hit the finish line or hit the wall. It will be over, finished, one for the books. As for those of us parenting special needs kids, midnight does not bring the end. Instead, midnight rolls around and finds us sleeping, one ear opened to any nocturnal needs. The finish line looms in the distance, months or years away. Some of us will never get to it, never feel the victory of crossing the final line. For others, the line will not signal victory but more angst as the uncertainty of a world unprepared opens to an equally unprepared child. So, as I ache for those victories, I must adjust my focus. Perhaps it is not one finish line I should be looking for. Perhaps it is little tiny lines, some barely perceptible to the naked eye, some only visible to another walking with me.

I salute the courage of the tri-athlete, the commitment to completing a near impossible task. Bask in your personal victory. Then, pull up your bootstraps, slap on your grubbies and encourage those who can’t quite see the finish line!

How to Frame a Foster Parent

Becoming a foster parent was a life long goal of mine. My husband just went along with it. After all—Happy wife, happy life.” Our first adopted child was adorable in his inability and we have grown to recognize his uniqueness in our home and this world.

Our decision to add to our family was not difficult. After all, we had 4, one with special needs, what was 2 more? We were excited about the two little girls and tolerated that they brought their little brother with them. We were assured that they would heal together and were predicted to have a fairly normal life. They came with the label “minimally impacted by their previous environment,” which didn’t sound all that scary.

As life would happen, the three were more than 2 handfuls when it came to their behaviors. Our home quickly turned upside down with these “minimally impacted” children. So, in keeping with accepted practices, we enrolled them in counseling and other behavior programs. We kept track of them, monitored them, played with them, took them on hikes and bike rides. We built a new playroom for them, decorated their bedrooms, played games, celebrated birthdays.

However, one day, it became too much. One of the girls accused the other of inappropriate behavior. She revealed this to her counselor, obligated to call Child Protective Services. OK, this couldn’t be too bad. This will help the children get the assistance they need, right? WRONG!

We learned quickly that the system that brought the children to us with little more than a cursory explanation of their past would now turn on us and blame us for their behaviors. The healers became the hurters. We were quickly turned into the enemy and taken to court.

Long story short: We are no longer foster parents and have been warned not to allow the children’s behavior to escalate to the point where we require legal involvement. If that happens, the judge warned, the children would be removed from our home. Oh, and that help the children were going to get? As far as the state is concerned, since it is not the children with the problems (obviously, it must be the minimally sufficient parents), they must not need any help.

We have learned lessons experienced by many people greater than us—it is not if a foster parent will get sued, it is when. It takes a special person to be a foster parent—one who is willing to go to jail for the deeds done by those before them. The “system” is not in place to provide healing for hurting children.

So, how do you frame a foster parent? The answer is easy. Place kids into their home.

A Few Good Women

The world lost a great person on February 20th, 2010, the last in a line of greatness, the last of a generation in my family. However, no flags will be flying at half mast, nor will there be a "laying in state." Naomi Ostien Stanley Ortendahl, aka Aunt Naomi, 92, will be laid to rest in a quiet ceremony attended by a fraction of the people she influenced in her lifetime. The emotions run high with this, bringing back memories of the not so distant death of my own mom. These two sisters, along with their 4 other siblings, contributed more to this world than anyone could understand.

The legacy of these women is not measured in worldly terms and the shoes they leave empty are going to be tough to fill. I realize only now, with the passing of Aunt Naomi, that it is up to my generation to put feet in them.

Their lives exemplified grace, passion and an unshakable faith in God. The grace I witnessed was as natural with them as walking with is to me. Life situations that I can only imagine--watching your children die before you, impossible children (ok, that I can imagine, but not I am not nearly as graceful!), family disagreements--all handled with the poise that comes through the great examples that came before them.

The passion was one for life: the good, the bad and the ugly. From the simple--a child's birthday cake--to the complex--leading a women's Bible study--to the impossible--saying goodbye to a loved one, they handled it with a joie de vivre that can only be fully appreciated with maturity and experience.

Their faith in God was a mainstay in my life. The unwavering belief that God is in control was a crutch leaned on heavily by both of them. This is not to say they were not strong, for in the leaning on God, there was strength derived from Him that increased their faith. It was the type of circle envied by some, misunderstood by others. It was a circle that enclosed them in a tight, comforting embrace that reassured them of their loving Savior. It was the circle from which they witnessed to the thousands of family, friends and strangers who walk across their life paths. It was from this circle they dealt with life's issues and trials. It was this circle that opened to accept all that was given them with humility and trust in God.

I will always associate several things with my Aunt. She was a "professional" cross-stitcher, making the model products for Precious Moments and inspired me, as did my Mom, to embrace that art form. She had a great cherry tree when I was growing up and I, to this day, associate anything cherry with her and relish the crop that comes off my own trees. She had a musical door pull that played when one would open her door. She had a sign, cross-stitched I believe, that said, "Kwitcherbellyachin." It took me a couple of years to get that one!

My Mom was generous to the end. We had just brought home three new kids and the oldest wanted a doll (as is typical with foster children, she came with very few items and none of the usual little girl toys). When Mom finally awakened somewhat from her surgery, she made sure my dad would fulfill that desire if she couldn't. That was the last request she would make and one I cherish. Her life was dedicated to children and she was Mom-mom to numerous children over her lifetime. She had a kitchen plaque that was perfect for her: "Come into the kitchen and chat with me, While I prepare a pot of tea." She was always ready for a friend.

So, the memories linger, getting better with age, and the life lessons have been taught. It is now up to me to carry on their legacy of grace, passion and faith in God, to those in my life path. It is a burden taken on with a heavy heart, yet one that was inevitable. It is time for me, the next generation, to take the life lessons given and pass them on the best way I know how. It is time to become one of the "Few Good Women."

In heaven, where Mom and Aunt Naomi are rejoicing and praising their Lord and Savior, there is no sorrow, only joy. I wish I could say that about here on earth. I miss both of them in many ways, but, because of their example, will once again, see them in heaven. I grieve for the loss of their influence, their enthusiasm, their encouragement, their wisdom. I rejoice for their new life, free of pain and grief, reunited with their loved ones. I realize that their lives and their accomplishments are not of this world but of eternity.

So, there is no flag remembrance, no news crew, no motorcade signaling the end of a life well lived. For now, I shall be content in the memories and know that the measure of my life will be celebrated where it counts--in heaven. I will remember Mom and Aunt Naomi every time I see one of their cross stitched works of art, teach a Bible study or eat cherry pie! I will cherish the lessons learned and endeavor to pass them to next generation. In this way, their lives on this earth will continue to be ones of influence, of purpose, of eternal value. I will cherish my time spent at the feet of these good women. I will strive to become a woman worthy of their legacy.

Stunned, Not Dead, Dear In the Back Seat

If you have ever heard the "Stunned, Not Dead" deer 911 call, you can imagine that it would not be fun to experience an animal waking up in your car and shredding both you and the car. Well, imagine that the dear is a child who does not like you, ....at all,...not one bit,...and she is not afraid of you either!

Living with slightly demented kids is like this every ride. I have been on the freeway, on the way to the psychologist who was helping with the kids, when A(7) decided she did NOT want to be in the car with me. In a small car, there are NO (legal) places to hide a child. She was unfortunately seated behind me and, between her long legs and mine, the back of the seat was well within her reach. I spent 45 minutes enjoying the jarring action of a then 5 year old kicking my seat. I have no idea how she kept it up the steady, hard rock beat the whole time, but she managed. It was much like having van Halen in your car only much less talent!

Life with these kids is like that every day. We deal on a continual basis with their desire to rid themselves of our family in any way possible. As we contemplate taking a vacation (something we have not done for 3 years), I remember that 45 min trip and think, "This is so not worth it."

Life will get better and some day, our family will once again enjoy the family bonding experience that is vacation. However, in order to that, the dear will have to be either domesticated or left home in the wild.

Never Put Green M&Ms in Your Pocket on a Hot Day

Dealing with children's mental health issues can be challenging. Most recently, our 5 year old boydecided to push the limits of our parenting abilities by hittint us with a double whammy--cutting himself with a knife and running away on the same day. He chose to run away from the counselor's office so she was obliged to call the police.

Because I knew it was going to be a tough session with the counselor that day (the appointment was between the cutting and running), I picked up some "reward" candy from the dispenser. It was M&Ms. I put them in my pocket for incentive during the session. The culprit candy was still in my pocket when the escaped ensued.

The day was hot--80 plus degrees--in our beautiful, mountainous area. I was pursuing him and he was finally stopped. We sat on the curb with the fire fighters who helped corral him, waiting for the police to arrive. After a brief talk, we headed back to retrieve the other children from the counselor's office.

It was at that time I reached into my pocket to get a tissue and, instead, felt something sticky. It was the green M&M, now permanently attached to the inside of my shorts' pocket. Needless to say, the M&M was lost and B(5) ended up at the "behavioral" hospital for 2.5 weeks. The M&M lesson was, by far, the easiest of the two lessons that day.

Daylight Stupid Time, Part Deux

Once again, the insanity and mayhem of "time change" comes into our home. This "spring ahead" concept is probably just an annoying wrinkle in most peoples' lives. However, when dealing with the various children's mental health issues that we have in our home, it is pure pandemonium. This will prove to be the worst week of the year, second only to the week following "fall back."

The minds in our home are so tied into the sun that the normal course of the sun through the seasons causes problems. This is not your run-of-the-mill sun up at bedtime in the summer. This is noting that the sun sets at 4 instead of 4:30 or that the bus is now coming when it is light instead of in the dark. "Why is the bus late?" is the question asked by T(12) even though it is still 5 minutes until bus time.

I challenge any proponent of changing clocks to duel--it would be fair. Just come in to our home for 5 days--no, you only have to do 4--after the clocks change. You will bear witness to chaos beyond imagination, attitudes that make you WANT to deal with gang members and temper flares that put solar flares to shame. You will intercept fists and spit wads heading towards faces, toys and other objects whizzing towards walls, and food shooting across the table. You will shout untold number of times and try to placate with video games and movies. In the end, you will retreat, exhausted, to write to your congressmen and insist on doing away with time changing.

So, as the rest of the week unwinds, think about those precious minds that are to significantly affected by the chronological conversion. Think about those parents who are tending to them. Be thankful if you are not part of the chaos. And, if you really want to help, write your congressmen!

Thank you, Keri

For those of you who are unfamiliar with children's mental health issues, psychosocial rehabilitation happens when a trained professional interacts with the affected person on a regular basis, thus promoting a more socially acceptable look on life. We, as a family, have been blessed to have a wonderful therapist with us since shortly after the trying trio arrived on our doorstep.

Keri started with us in the midst of the turmoil that is the first months of child placement, not to mention the death of my mom. She was skeptical at first, as were we. However, the little cocoons soon matured into beautiful butterflies and we both noticed that we were not so different. As we matured in our relationship, a strong bond was formed--not just with the kids, but with our families.

She saw us through the darkest, lowest time in our life as a family, refraining graciously from commenting on our immature attempts at dealing with things. She encouraged us to try new techniques to soothe savage beasts and calm fears. She tirelessly combed the internet for more information on reactive attachment disorder, children's mental health issues and other timely topics. She read the information and highlighted the key ideas to help me save time, but still understand the kids.

What can I say about someone who walked so willingly with us, scooping us up in time of need and rejoining in the little things? Thank you, a thousand times over, thank you. From all of us in this home with a slightly bedraggled family, but still together after 2 1/2 years, thank you. You will be missed.

Daylight Stupid Time

For those of us with special needs children, time must ALWAYS be on our side. Having four of these children make the changing of the clocks a "climb Mt. Everest" type of event. The last 2 weeks have been testy, at best!

The first thing one notices are the comments, starting in mid October, that we are eating dinner later and later. Then, once the clock changes, the kids start complaining about getting out of school later and eating dinner at bedtime! The whine is, "Where did the sun go?"

That is not the worst of it, though. The worst is the changes in behavior that happen the first week after. It is not a pretty house at this time. The whole adjustment process takes a minimum of 2 weeks to adjust and tempers flare frequently during that time.

Each election, I think I should run for office solely on the platform of eliminating time change. It would be one change that would have an immediate effect on the most sensitive of our population. It would calm the world of many frustrated parents and caregivers during those former time change weeks. It would be change from the bottom, impacting life as we know it for the under represented of our world.

In plain words spoken from our special needs 12 year old, T (who deals poorly with the changing of the clocks), "Why do we change the clocks? It doesn't stop how the sun works!" Out of the mouths of babes...

Mothering Others' Children

When one starts down the road of adoption, the light at the end of the tunnel is the brightness of the newly dawning sun, rising to greet the newly formed family as they start a brand new day. Ah! The stuff dreams are made of!!

The reality of adopting others, however, is this--the light at the end of the tunnel is a train!! One cannot envision what the future holds when you have no input into the first days, weeks, months and years of a young life. I think about my first three "scratch" kids. I was there for every minute of every day of their young lives, especially that very important pregnancy! The "prefab" kids are different, though. I know the saying, "You were not grown beneath my heart, but in it." This is sweet, but does not begin to estimate the damage these young lives experience and the lifelong recovery they (and their new family) must go through.

If I were observant, prior to entering this strange world of mothering others' children, I would have thought it out logically. Why are these kids up for adoption? Why are their parents not able to care for them? How did the answers to the first two questions impact those fragile, early weeks, months and years? These are not children of neurosurgeons and lawyers. These are children of drug addicts and alcoholics, abusers and mentally ill. These things are not just environmental. They are genetic, passed on to the next generation (the one you adopt) and difficult to override. Those early days and weeks are firmly embedded in that young psyche and very difficult to override. What was I NOT thinking? Why did it take so long to figure this out?

Still, there is a passion to right the wrong, fix the broken, contribute to society in some tangible way that overrides ALL logic and compels some of us to continue down a road less traveled, one that involves taking other mothers' children, attempting to right the wrongs done in the past, showing a positive present, and pushing toward a bountiful future. The ultimate goal for the "prefab" kids is the same for the "scratch" kids--productive, kind, God-fearing citizens. The only exception is some of the parts are broken or missing and you have to be more creative in getting to that goal. Sometimes, very important pieces are missing and can never be replaced. Sometimes you realize that you may never be able to override the issues that brought them to adoption in the first place.

Maybe, if we are blessed and work harder than imaginable, we can change the light to something less damaging than a train, perhaps something closer to a sunny day. Maybe...

And They're Off!

When I was growing up, my mom did not like to see the start of school. She missed having the 6 of us around the house, fighting and screaming, making messes and mayhem. Most of all, however, I think she missed the companionship.

This summer represents the 20th school vacation I have taken with my children. The first 15 were great. We took trips, made cookies, learned new things like how to sew or how to do laundry. We went to the zoo, went on all day shopping sprees, visited with friends. I understood how my mom did not want the summers to end. Then.....we adopted!!!

Now, the new kids need the vacations as much as our older children, but there are many more hurdles to jump. Raising our newest three wasn't starting from scratch (like you do with a newborn), especially in the relationship department. So, you don't just get into the car and drive to the zoo 4 hours away! In fact, you don't get everyone in the car unless you absolutely need too! So, the last 2 years of summer vacation have been more chore than fun. The special care of children with mental health issues can sideline the most gung-ho family!

The biggest impact has been on the 4 oldest children--losing the freedom that we had been so used to. There was no trip to the cave on the Canadian border or playing "Look at me! I'm in Canada! Now I'm in the U.S.!" (This game Is a favorite with most of our visitors as well!) Summer has become a chore, passing the highest need children, usually 2, to one person while the others go out to the movies or something otherwise fun. It does not make for a fun "family" time when the whole family doesn't participate.

Hopefully, with some more counseling, patterning of normal family interaction, maturity and a good mother's helper, we will get to have a vacation next year. In the time, back to the title...they are off--to school, that is. The last one starts tomorrow at 12:05 and I have 2 hours free to do what I want!!!

The Princess and Her Pee

Kiddos with reactive attachment disorder display some unusual behaviors. After 20 months of living in our house, A(6) continues to be a challenge. She attends kindergarten wearing diapers (her choice, bought with her birthday money). If she goes with "undies," she whizzes where ever she chooses. Now, mind you, I have nerves of steel, but standing in the store with your 6 year old peeing on the floor will bring the strongest to their knees!

Last week, she and I spent some quality time together, her in the "chore chair" refusing to do chores and me prepping dinner. She expressed that she was angry at me and I asked why at me. I had done nothing to harm her, but others in her life (bio mom, dad, siblings) had. We actually engaged in some meaningful dialogue for several minutes. Because of her opening up to me, expressing feelings appropriately, not yelling at me, she earned time out of the chair and played happily for an hour, just like a well functioning 6 year old girl. Then, time was up and she reverted to the old little girl, but I digress.

The next morning, we chatted again, both a little hesitant because of the behavior after her freedom time the night before. She said (now remember, she is only 6), if I didn't treat her like a princess, I was abusing her!

It is interesting how the mind gets twisted by what people do to little kids. So those of us who feel led to pick up the pieces of these little lives must untangle the mess that is left. Sometimes, the task seems impossible. Discouragement is definitely part of my daily life. But, just like the princess in the fairy tale, someday A(6) and I will figure out how to stop that little irritation from driving her. Someday, she will stop wearing diapers. Someday, she will play without reverting to the old little girl.

Full Contact Hymns

Going to church is an interesting expedition in our house. Getting four children with varying mental illness ready can be challenging. When breakfast is finally finished, hair combed, teeth sparkling, we split into 2 cars, the two older kiddos taking two little ones in one car and mom, dad and two others in another. It works better that way.
At church, we sit alternating big/little across the pew in the back. The real challenge is the singing. Kids love music and when you have kids with little self control, you get motion. Sometimes, lots of it! So, I hold onto T(11) and try to corral one other while dad gets the third (one is still in nursery). When it comes reducing the motion in a mania burdened boy with ADD, you get a work out! People pay for this kind of work out and I get it for free, every Sunday morning.
So, the next time you are in church, joyfully enjoying the worship songs, look around. Somewhere in your church, there may be a mom singing and getting a workout!

To Insanity and Beyond

Just like in Toy Story, some things can fall apart around our house. Dealing with severe reactive attachment disorder in A(6) causes falling apart on a daily basis. Feed into the behavior and she escalates. Ignore the behavior and she escalates. No easy answer! Our team of experts continues to be stumped by how stubborn a 6 year old can be. She is cute and charming around almost every one else, but when Mom walks in, "Kablam!" She flies apart hitting anything in the debris trail. It takes it's toll on the whole family.
Tonight, however, we left the 4 kiddos with two very patient teens and spent 3 hours away from the house. That was enough time to unwind and, perhaps, remember why we are doing what we do. It was a time to recover some sanity and talk about something other than psychiatrists, psychologists, RAD, bipolar, IEPs, etc. It was a time to refuel the brain and soul. It was a time that was irreplaceable and we may have to do it again, just as soon as the sitters recover!

One Bipolar, Two Bipolar, Three Bipolar, Four

Imagine a child who laughs ferociously one minute and is hitting you and screaming the next. Imagine that for ten weeks in a row, each and every day. Imagine the medication not working as you hoped, and yet, each day you pray that today is the day the cycle breaks. Now times that by three and you have our life.
Life with one bipolar child is unpredictable and embarrassing. Now, with two others, I am finding the single bipolar life a vacation. One might ask what are the odds of three or four children in one family being bipolar. Well, our psychologist assures me it is passed through the dad and the environment and past care influence how and when it comes out.
The first diagnosed was B(4). He was given ADD meds and that turned on the mania. T(11) was being weaned off his antianxiety and hitting puberty and that set him off. A(6) is more depression and aggression and has been that way for a while.
It is typical for boys to be more manic and girls more depressed. It is typical for parents to wear out with only one bipolar child. I can tell you that after 10 weeks of T(11) being manic and the others following, we are wrung out and ready for a break. Hopefully we can find someone or, better yet, four someones to ease the burden until stability sets in.

Even in Australia

One of my older kids' favorite books is Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Our life is a lot like that book. One never knows what will happen next but you can bet it is probably not good. Before adopting the last three high need kids, I was an optimistic, rational person with control over the important parts of the family's life, and most of the unimportant ones, as well. Now, I awake each morning, ready to face the enemy, those kids at the breakfast table.

Mind you, I wouldn't change anything, except the attitudes that these young folks can possess at such a young age. A, for example, has reactive attachment disorder. She is out to prove she can outlast, outplay and outwit me at every turn of the day. I have never encountered a 5 year old with such venom in her and such a strong will. She has started "momming" everyone in the house including the older kids (23,18, 15). Her latest attempt has been going for about 3 weeks, strongly for the last 7 days. She has managed to make enemies of all the other household members with the exception of daddy, at times.

I continue to work with her rehab counselor and her private counselor as well as the school and Sunday school teachers to work through this. Some days, however, nothing goes right. This is a 5 year old with the will and guile of a 20 year old.

Twenty months ago, when we started all this, I would never have guessed this is where we would be. Someday, we will have victory over the past and start seeing a brighter future. Right now, I am hoping for positive minutes, collecting, eventually, into hours, then days, then....

In the meantime, I will be content with angry faces, putdowns and insults from the 5 year old knowing that the work to change is tough, long and rough. I will be content to think that somewhere someone else is having a similar day, maybe in Australia!

Good days, bad days

Some days in our house can be good. In fact, before the 3 new kids came, most days were good. Now we measure good times in minutes, sometimes hours, but rarely days. As I was planning a spontaneous event with another family, I said that I would call an hour ahead because that is the most lead time the kids can tolerate. Anticipating good is a fearful thing, one they can not tolerate. Collectively, the behaviors escalate and the words spewing forth become littered with how good things were before they moved in to this house, how much nicer the other foster parents were, etc.

The reinforcement for me is to not plan fun things. The payback is too severe, too many negative consequences. I have been told by H and A that I am not a fun mom. In fact, A was gone from the house and H and I had a little fun. Not much, just enough to give H a taste of how life might be without all the negative talk. She liked it, but spent much of the next day rubbing A's nose in it.

Some day I will realize that the good days have outnumbered the bad. Someday, I will once again be the fun mom. Some day, the new kids will understand that fun is a part of life, not the response of a guilt ridden, ineffective parent. Some day, there will be enough security that genuine laughter will be allowed without the fear of being hurt.

Polar Bears and Penguins

What, you may ask, do polar bears and penguins have to do with raising children? Until a few months ago, I also wondered. Now, however, I am becoming an expert in these matters. If you recall geography and a little zoology, you will realize that the two are, literally, polar opposites. One resides in the Arctic and one in the Antarctic. This describes the challenge of raising another's child.

Our house is overrun by these polar opposite children. Our family's adventure with adopted children began innocently enough with our first adoption, 4th child in our family, about 10 years ago. Nothing could stop us from taking in this beautiful, 18 month old boy--not the starvation he endured, the developmental issues, the unknown factors. Surely love and a great family would overcome all of this and undo the past problems!

No doubt that love and a great family have had an impact on this child, "T", but even that could not erase the damage already done. Now fast forward 8 years and we start the process again. After all, we are seasoned professionals at this. I have gained enormous experience in ADHD, stress reduction, physical therapy, sensory integration dysfunction, IEPs, daily injections. How much harder could it be with one or two more?

Now understand, our family is large, 4 kids, so the only public adoption choices are the "hard to place" children, including sibling groups. Still we said: Bring it on! We look through pairs and trios, even one group with seven (even I was not that insane) until we come across the perfect pair of girls, plus a spare little boy. If a picture is worth a thousand words, this one was "War and Peace!" After extensive questioning and reassuring that we were of sound mind, we met the new kids. The first thing out of the oldest mouth was, "I will not do what you tell me to" but she was adorable anyway! Number 2 girl was charming and the littlest was as cute as could be. Then we went home.

As most families know who have adopted, the first month is the honeymoon. We were a little nuts, less than social and started to settle in to a routine. In fact, it took some time before the true colors were flying. Now, 20 months later, I look back and see how far we have come, but I also realize how long the journey is. Now I can speak with the voice of experience, exhaustion, frustration and, every once in a while, triumph.

Now, about the polar opposites that started all this. Recently, we started the littlest boy, "B," on ADD medication and found out that he is bipolar. We then found the same issue in his sister, "A." We are still watching the oldest of the trio, "H," for symptoms. Much surprise to us was, most recently, when T also "went manic" on us and we now deal in the extremes on most days.

With mental illness, especially in children, the days are hard to predict. Medication helps, but adjustments are necessary and side effects not always pleasant. So our days are now colored with uncertainty. Some days, there may be a big, ugly Polar bear with claws extended and ready to bite. Some days, it is a slow moving penguin oblivious to the activities around them. Some days, we visit the Arctic and Antarctica on the same day.