June 21, 2010
When I Write About My Children
Five years ago I started my personal blog, in part, as a way to record some of the funny things my older son said and did. It quickly turned into a way for me to document the fun and not so fun parts of parenting him, a child that we were discovering had special needs.
My older son knows that I am a blogger, although I won't even pretend that at seven he really understands what that is. He knows that I write and people read what I write. He knows that some of my words are in a book. I tell him when I write about him, and I show him the pictures that I post of him. Right now he thinks that is "cool" and he even asks sometimes when I'm sitting down at my computer, if I'm writing about him again. If I tell him no, he wants to know why not. Someday he may not think my writing about him is "cool." And if that time comes and he asks me to stop, I will. If he asks me to remove what I have written about him in the past from the public domain, I will seriously consider that as well.
I won't have secrets from either of my children. I don't like secrets. Secrets hurt people. While there are things I would never talk with my kids about now, when they are older and ready for it, and can understand, there will be no secrets. I have put considerable thought into it over the years, as to why I write about my personal life and my family, and what I might be risking. I assume that some day my children will read my blog. I hope I will be there with them when they do read it. I hope they will find no surprises. I hope that our relationship is such that they will know they can question anything that I have written. I also hope that as I've documented the good and the bad of our journey, especially the difficulties of parenting my older son, that when reading it they will never doubt how much their dad and I have tried, and will continue to try, to do for them. Or how much we love them both! Because in spite of everything, or perhaps because of everything, I love both of them beyond what mere words can express. In some ways, the difficult times just help us appreciate the easier times more.
I've often referred to my youngest son as my sunshine when talking with friends. He balances out our life so nicely. There are times when I think if it wasn't for him my husband and I really would fall off the deep end. But if my youngest is my sunshine, my eldest is most definitely my lightening. My power, my strength. Because of him I have learned things, become things, worked harder, than I ever thought possible. So someday, if they ever do read my words, they will know how much they gave me. And I hope they will see that while the journey was long, especially for my oldest son, as in his painting above, their Dad and I provided them the covered bridge to keep them safe along the way.
This is an original Philly Moms Blog post. Kristine also writes on her personal blog, Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine, where she chronicles the good, the bad, and the crazy of her life as a mother, wife and woman. You can also find her on Twitter as momneedstherapy.
writing, children, kids, document, special needs, blogging,
June 14, 2010
Is Inner Drive on your kids map to Success?
So what is it that motivates a sixteen year old to attempt a solo journey around the world? I can speculate that in Abby's case it was a combination of a passion for sailing, a need for recognition, perhaps a need to best her brother, or maybe just the desire to be the best at what she loves. Abby clearly has an "inner drive" to accomplish something amazing. And that has had me thinking, what drives some children to do the amazing? Why do some children push themselves harder to achieve than others?
I myself was one of those children that early on set goals and wanted to "be the best." My drive was in academics and somewhat less so in music. I distinctly remember in eighth grade deciding that I was going to graduate from high school with a 4.0 grade point and give the valedictory speech at commencement. And I did. While I haven't reached every goal I have set since then, I have always set them for myself, often without even realizing that was what I was doing. Over the years I've come to understand that my inner drive is as much about personal satisfaction as it is my need for recognition.
I was never pressured by my parents to succeed in any of my endeavors. If anything, they tried so hard not to push me that I worked even harder to be the best to try and gain their attention and make them proud of me. So while I have a fairly good understanding of my own drive to excel, why did I have that drive at all when other kids seemed quite content just enjoying their youth.
There is a seven year old in my son's karate class that already shows this "inner drive." He was born prematurely and still has coordination issues and problems with his fine motor skills. Yet every time I see him in class he is focused and powerful and pushing to do his best. You can see the determination on his face. This is a child that even at the young age of seven I know is going to accomplish great things.
So I wonder about "inner drive." Is it something you can teach a child? Personally, I don't think so. I think you can be a role model for them. You can encourage them to succeed. And you can teach them skills. But I think that "drive," that extra inner push to excel, to be the absolute best, is either there or it isn't. And while I hope my own children don't decide they want to sail around the world alone, I do hope they find something they are equally as passionate about and that within themselves they find their own "inner drive" to do their best at something they love.
This is an original Philly Moms Blog post. Kristine also writes on her personal blog, Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine, where, when she isn't hoping her son will find the "inner drive" to wipe his own butt, she chronicles the good, the bad, and the crazy of her life as a mother, wife and woman. You can also find her on Twitter as momneedstherapy.
inner drive, success, Abby Sunderland, sail around the world, ambition, motivation, accomplish
June 03, 2010
The Final Move
I think this may have been one of the hardest things my husband has ever done. Perhaps not as sad as when his father passed away, but more painful because he and his brother had to make a decision for their mom that she isn’t necessarily happy with. And believe me, there were many tears shed and phone calls made asking “why.” "Why are you doing this to me?" "Why can't I just stay here?" Etc. What makes it more difficult is that she is in that in-between stage of Alzheimer's where most of the time she knows what is going on around her, but her short-term memory and her ability to rationalize are becoming increasingly compromised. And the episodes of confusion are worsening.
Because her money is limited, there weren’t many choices when it came to make a decision on a nursing home. Rich and I desperately wanted to be able to move her to the Abramson Residence, a Jewish nursing home with a resident centered or social approach to care rather than a hospital or institutional model of care. The Abramsons Residence is less than ten minutes from our house; so close that we could pick her up and bring her home for dinner every night if she/we wanted. It is truly an impressive facility and I was so excited after we first visited it. A nursing home that felt more like a "home" than a hospital. Not only do the residents have their own rooms and live within a "household," but they have a playroom for kids and a fenced in park with benches and a small playground. And it didn't stink! Let me repeat that. It Did Not Stink!!
Unfortunately, there is a waiting list so long they won’t even tell us where we sit on it. Residents of their assisted living facility get first dibs on an open room, as do, as I understand it anyway, private pay patients. We don’t “know” anyone with any influence, and in a short time her money will be gone and she will have to resort to Medicaid. None of that make our chances of moving her up on the waiting list very promising, I'm afraid.
After looking into other homes, and with the guidance of a social worker, the decision was made to move her to the Glendale Uptown Home. At first her room smelled like urine, but we were assured housekeeping would take care of that. When my husband was there moving her in he had to ask for toilet paper for the bathroom and for a cord for the phone. Her TV didn't work for a while. Her room assignment is temporary, although I’m not exactly sure why.
When I was there this weekend she was in a wheel chair and no longer using her cane or walker. I suppose it is just easier for the staff to get her places if they wheel her there. As soon as I walked in the facility there was a faint odor. Walking up to her room the stench increased. It brought back every feeling I have ever had about nursing homes since I was a kid and used to visit with Girl Scouts. Disgust and sadness. And the odor, the stench of death and shit.
She deserves the best as the end of her life nears, and it makes me incredibly sad that we can’t give her that, because as with so many things, it comes down to money and resources. She worked hard her whole life. She raised three sons and watched one pass away as a teenager. She didn't live an extravagant life, but despite the immense pain of losing a child, she had a mostly happy life. Friends and family are what is important to her, and as her health declined she lost her ability to get out of her own apartment and be the social butterfly she once was. Everyone agrees that ultimately this move will be a good one because she will be with people all day again, and even she can't deny that.
Despite our concerns, she seems to be adjusting. The anxiety filled phone calls have decreased and changed to ones that sound more contented. Although she sounded somewhat resigned when she asked me "Is this the place I'm going to stay until I die?" yesterday. She's made some friends and reconnected with two women that she used to know forty plus years ago. So, Rich is sleeping better and the sick feeling in my stomach has settled slightly, although I still can't get that odor out of my head.
This is an original Philly Moms Blog post. Kristine also writes on her personal blog, Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine, where she chronicles the good, the bad, and the crazy of her life as a mother, wife and woman. You can also find her on Twitter as momneedstherapy.
Photo credit: Jonas Boni nursing home, alzheimer's disease, moving, age, anxiety, stench,
Am I the only one who experiences conflicting feelings over Mother’s Day? It’s not that I think it isn’t wonderful that we have a day to celebrate mothers. You won’t hear me saying we don’t deserve it. It’s just that Mother’s Day holds very complicated emotions for me.
I have a tenuous relationship at best with my own mother (and father). Without getting into the ugly of it all we just don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, most upsetting to me being how my husband and I are raising our kids. We have very limited contact with them now. Because of this I feel a huge void, because even at 42 there are times when all I want is “my mommy.”
And then there are the years I spent dreaming of a Mother’s Day where I was a mother, and crying in my bedroom because once again I wasn’t pregnant. Celebrating with the mothers in my life wasn’t horrible, it just highlighted that once again I wasn’t a mom. Every year that passed was harder. But I put on a happy face and endured, because if you aren’t going through it yourself, no one gets it.
Then finally we adopted our oldest son and I was a mom. And it was finally MY Mother’s Day. My FIRST Mother’s Day! And honestly, I wanted it to be all about me. I wanted to revel in finally being a mother on Mother’s Day. I wanted to hold my son and my husband close to me all day and let it just be about the three of us.
But I couldn’t. And not just because we spent most of the day with my mother-in-law and my husband's brother and his family. I couldn’t because I spent much of the day wondering if there was a woman half a world away in Russia mourning the loss of her own child. Even if Mother’s Day isn't celebrated on the same day in Russia (it is loosely tied in with International Women's Day as I understand it), wouldn't she still be mourning?
In my heart though, I felt this confusing mix of sadness and extreme happiness. Something hit me on that first Mother’s Day; thoughts that in the eight months my son had been home with us I hadn’t let myself think until then. I found myself feeling sad for my son’s birth mother. Here I had this amazing, gorgeous, happy little boy who had just learned to walk and was starting to talk. He enchanted me, as he continues to do (most days). He helped me become whole again after the pain of infertility. Yet I worried that my happiness was balanced by another woman’s heartbreak.
And I wondered if his birth mother was mourning him. If she went to bed at night thinking about him. If she cried her own tears of not having a child, as I had. And I had no way to know other than the certainty that if it was me I would be broken. Because it is so unfathomable to me to even consider a life without either of my boys, I have no ability to consider a reality in which she doesn’t think of him as well.
So on Mother’s Day I send a special thank you out to the universe for Noah’s birth mother. Just like I do on Noah’s birthday. Because if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have him, and I would not be the mother I am now.
I now also send to a special thank you out to the universe to the anonymous couple that gave us the gift of the embryo that became Kiel. I don’t have the same conflicting emotions for them, however. While I imagine they wonder what may have become of those embryos, I don’t think it is as tangible. What they gave us was the potential for a child, and whether they know or not that is the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.
So yes, Mother’s Day is complicated for me. A mix of joy tempered by the concern that my joy is at the expense of another woman's sadness.
So this year, after I’ve thanked and celebrated the other mothers in my life, I’m going to take some time to celebrate why I am a mother. Because to me the reason I am a mother is so much more important and worthy of celebration than celebrating me for what I do AS a mother. So I will celebrate my children, and in a moment of quiet, I will take some time to silently thank a woman in Russia and wish her peace. And I will thank the anonymous couple that gave me the "gift of potential" that became Kiel.
Noah and Kiel, I love you beyond anything I could ever imagine feeling. Noah you are my strength and Kiel you are my sunshine. Thank you for making me a mother.
Now please, can I just have a few extra hours of sleep?
This is an original Philly Moms Blog post. Kristine also writes on her personal blog, Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine, where she chronicles the good, the bad, and the crazy of her life as a mother, wife and woman. You can also find her on Twitter as momneedstherapy.
I am definitely shades of the stereotypical, overwhelmed working-mother. I'm never quite sure I sent my kids off to school with a clean face after breakfast. The clean laundry is still sitting in the basket(s) waiting to be folded from the weekend. And the kitchen floor desperately needs mopping. Today at work I spent more time talking with insurance companies and mental health providers about my son than I did talking with my own clients. And I'm pretty much attached to my laptop in the evening after the kids are in bed.
One thing that hasn't been part of my life in quite a while though is exercise. I've always hated sweating. And I prefer reading a book over anything requiring exertion. So imagine my surprise when my son's karate instructor convinced me to attend his adult karate classes last year.
By now you have probably heard about the 7-year-old boy, Artyom Savelyev, who was put on a plane by himself and sent back to Russia. Artyom was adopted last September from a Russian orphanage by Torry Hansen, a Tennessee woman. Earlier this week, Hansen’s mother put Artyom on a United Airlines flight back to Moscow, with arrangements to have him met when the plane arrived and escorted to the Russian Education and Science Ministry. According to this Associated Press article, Artyom carried a letter with him that said Hansen was returning him to Russia due to severe psychological problems. The letter claimed that Hansen was lied to and misled by Russian orphanage workers and the orphanage director regarding Artyom’s mental stability, and that Artyom was violent and had severe psychopathic issues. The letter also included the statement, “After giving my best to this child, I am sorry to say that for the safety of my family, friends, and myself, I no longer wish to parent this child."
I cried when I first read the article, and even now, as I watch the news stories about it on CNN, there is a knot in my stomach that grows bigger with each report. Because, you see, this story hits far too close to home for me and my family.
Our 7-year-old son was adopted from Russia when he was six-months-old. He has psychological and behavioral problems that almost seven years into the adoption we are still trying to figure out. The reality is we probably have yet to touch the surface of what is going on in his mixed up little brain.
Earlier this week I stood in front of a highly emotional group of parents at my son’s elementary school in Warrington and expressed disappointment in their lack of compassion. I was the only person there to speak up publicly and express support for the issue at the heart of the meeting. And while I spoke I was yelled and cursed at. It’s probably an understatement to say I didn’t make any friends that night.
The issue? The creation of a transitional living facility for three older teenage boys convicted of sexual offenses as juveniles.
I’ll stop and give you a few seconds now to pick your jaw up off the floor, because I bet the thought going through your mind right now is “are you freaking kidding me? You are in favor of moving rapists into your community?”
It’s a pretty visceral reaction isn’t it? “Hell no, not in my town!”
And yes, that is what many people spoke up and said at Monday night’s community information session held by Doylestown-based Edison Court, a non-profit organization that specializes in the treatment of juvenile sex offenders, sexual abuse victims and their families.
I urge you to read the articles written in The Intelligencer, our local paper, here, here and here. And then please come back, because I’d like to have a serious and respectful discussion about an issue that is affecting more than just my community of Warrington. I hope you’ll move beyond the initial knee-jerk reaction you might have had when you read my first few sentences and differentiate between your perceived fear and what the real risk is.
I don’t deny this is a serious and scary issue. As a parent with young kids I would do absolutely anything in my power to protect them. I was at that meeting because I wanted to hear more about the issue, and make sure I understood what was being proposed before I took a stand. Because when I heard that juvenile sex offenders would be housed in my community I wanted to know more, so I did some research. And what I found out didn’t scare me. In fact, I was proud to know that we have an organization like Edison Court in Bucks County; an organization that is doing some amazing work with teenagers that would otherwise be lost to the system. Yes, these kids did something horrible, because no matter how you spin it, sexual offenses are horrible. These are also kids that in most cases would be part of a system that managed them, but didn’t treat them. And then at age 21, they would be released from the system regardless of suitability or treatment compliance. You might say the kids at the heart of this issue got lucky, because they qualified for and entered a program that is set up to provide intensive therapy and rehabilitation and is giving them a chance to become productive members of society. The fact is that there is a difference between the juvenile sex offenders Edison Court works with, and the violent, pedophilic adult sex offenders that so many people think of when they hear the words “sex offender.”
So I attended that meeting to listen, and see if any of those initial, visceral fears I had were founded. While I do believe that most people deserve second chances, especially kids, I’m not willing to give someone a second chance at the real risk of my own family being hurt.
I assumed I would be witnessing a civil conversation between Edison Court and members of my community. Naively, I expected a respectful dialogue that would address our fears and help us as a community understand the real issues and the real risks of this project. The reality is that the individuals they want to place in this transitional living environment are three teenagers that have successfully completed a rigorous inpatient treatment program over a 2.5 to 3 year period, but do not have a family that is able to, or that they are willing to, go back to. They have earned the right to increased community interaction. While the crimes they committed are by definition horrible, they were not done using aggression or weapons.
Instead, I witnessed some very un-civil behavior directed at the representatives of Edison Court as they stood in front of a largely hostile crowd and attempted to answer our questions and help us understand the real issues. Most of the people in the audience didn’t want to hear that what was being proposed would add an additional layer of support and protection not only for these teenagers, but for the community at large. Because the reality is that if this transitional living facility doesn’t come to fruition, these teenagers will be released into the community on their own, with no supervision.
There were a few people that asked good questions and spoke of their fear and concerns in a respectful manner. Unfortunately, the majority of people that spoke up made it clear with their actions and voice that they didn’t want to hear the answers or explanations. Several people yelled, a few cursed. There were shouts of “liar” from the crowd. It was clear that most of the people there had made up their mind on this issue before the meeting even started. And they were mad! And scared. And nothing that was said was going to change what they believed.
Some people came prepared with statistics, and newspaper articles, and definitions. The only problem was the information they were “sharing” was about violent adult sex offenders and wasn’t relevant to the juvenile offenders that Edison Court works with. Several times I heard statements from the crowd that “these deviants can’t be rehabilitated.”
As I listened to my neighbors speak against this project I found myself disappointed with my own community. First, because many of the people that spoke up commended Edison Court for what they were doing, but made it very clear that they should go somewhere else to do it. “Not in my back yard! Let another town deal with it.” One woman even stood up from her seat and yelled “If their own parents don’t want them, why should we?”
I sat there wondering what had happened to our humanity. When did we lose our compassion for other people? When did we lose our ability to reason? And why is it OK to push off our problems onto another community?
And I realized that no one was going to speak up in support of this project, or these kids. Not a single person raised their voice to say “hey, you guys aren’t listening! You aren’t looking at the real issue. You have scared yourselves silly but you don’t understand the real risk.” Were there people there thinking as I did? Were they just too scared to stand up and say it, I wondered?
There is a theory in social psychology called the “spiral of silence” that asserts that a person is less likely to voice an opinion on a topic if he/she feels they are in the minority, for fear of reprisal or isolation from the majority. I can relate to that fear because I too sat in that meeting with no plan to voice my opinion. I sat through 2 ½ hours of that meeting before I couldn’t take it any longer and after listening to one particularly idiotic blow-hard, I stood up. I walked to the front of that room, took the microphone, and told the people there that I was disappointed in their lack of compassion and reason.
I’ll be honest; I don’t remember exactly what I said. At one point I remember thinking, “oh crap, that’s really me talking.” I know that I was trying to ask the crowd to listen, to try and understand what was being proposed, and to stop fanning the flame of a misguided fear. I remember telling a woman that was yelling at me that what she was screaming about wasn't the real problem. And when a woman in the front row started swearing at me, I stood there and waited until she was done, then started talking again.
By the time I finished and walked back to my seat I was shaking. But I knew I had done the right thing. Continuing to sit there and listen to the misinformed fear of my peers and say nothing, was wrong. Even though I know I didn’t change anyone’s mind, and I'm sure I could have said it better, I’m proud of myself. And when I went to bed that night I knew I had done the right thing.
I'm still wondering if I was the only person in that room in favor of this project. Or maybe I am just incredibly naive.
This is an original Philly Moms Blog post. Kristine also writes on her personal blog, Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine, where she chronicles the good, the bad, and the crazy of her life as a mother, wife and woman. You can also find her on Twitter as momneedstherapy.
Today has been a busy day of filling out forms - camper registration, health form, emergency contact information, autism grant application, back-up camp forms (in case we decide to send my son to a "special needs" camp), nursing home application (for my mother in law - and by far the most difficult of the forms I tackled today) and two rebate forms. What an exciting thing to do an a beautiful weekend afternoon.
Oh yeah, I also just finished filling out the 2010 Census form.
This is the third census form I've filled out as an adult. It gives me a sense of fulfilling my civic duty, just like when I vote. It took me about ten minutes to fill it out. It probably would have taken less time except I was a bit taken aback when I got to question two when I was entering the information for my two sons. That question asks how this person is related to Person 1 (the first person entered in the form). The options you can check are "biological son or daughter," "adopted son or daughter," or "stepson or stepdaughter."
I suppose if we hadn't created our family the way we did I wouldn't think twice about it, but we did, and I do, and the question upset me a little.
Of course I filled out the form and answered all the questions and it will be in the mail tomorrow. Despite my irritation at that question I know it is important that everyone be counted. It certainly got me thinking though, and more interested in why the Census asks what it does and how information like "adopted or biological" will be used.
So did you send your Census back yet? And if you did, what did you think of that question, especially if you have "biological" kids? Did you think the options were strange?
Since I'm not linked genetically to either of my boys (I have both an eater and a wiper, btw) I really couldn't comment on the theory per se, but it certainly is an interesting twist on the nature versus nurture debate.
While clearly a silly conversation, it did get me thinking. So, like all good pseudoscientists, I turned to the internet to see what it had to say about booger picking and found this little gem about booger eating. It appears that a few years ago Dr. Friedrich Bischinger, a lung specialist in Austria, gained some notoriety by endorsing the picking and eating of boogers, especially by children. According to Dr. Bischinger people who pick their noses with their fingers (the finger is key, yo!) are healthier, happier, and more in tune with their bodies.
Apparently, the finger is key because it allows you to dig into the nooks and crannies that a handkerchief or tissue can't reach, keeping your nose cleaner. And the only comment I have to this is, "well, duhh!"
He also claims that "eating the dry remains of what you pull out is a great way of strengthening the body's immune system. The nose is a filter in which a great deal of bacteria is collected, and when this mixture arrives in the intestines it works just like a medicine."
I've always thought the crazy in me was genetic. Until recently that is, when it struck me that my children are conspiring to raise the insanity level in my head from elevated, right past high, to severe.I'm serious! I'm convinced that each morning they spend a few minutes planning the things they can do to put me over the edge. Their goal to see me rocking in the corner, drool dripping down my chin as I mutter to myself. Oh, they are good these boys of mine. Rarely is their intent obvious. Mostly it is insidious in its frequency, covered in a thick layer of cuteness.
Like this morning when Noah was in our bedroom at 6:30 with his newest box of Lego's, insisting he build it right then and there. His excitement at starting a new "project" so clear, that Rich and I just rolled over and let him.
Or last week, when I caught Noah teaching Kiel how to push the button on the water dispenser on the refrigerator so he could drink from it as it poured out in a stream onto the floor. I applaud their thoughtfulness in not providing me with another glass to wash, but seriously boys, seriously...
Do you think they planned it together when Kiel fell no less than three times this weekend, hitting his head in the exact same spot that required twelve stitches and a Saturday evening in the ER a few months ago? Three falls that found my typically relaxed parenting style, where my response when one of them falls is usually along the lines of "ehh, shake it off, you'll be fine," turning into "we are getting rid of all the non-foam furniture in this house and buying him a helmet" style.
How much thought do you think they put into it when Kiel insists, over and over, that he drink like a kitty from the cats water dish? Or when I find him doling out the cat treats in a "one for me, one for them" style?
Sometimes I don't even need to be directly involved, just hearing about their antics takes me one step closer. Like today, when Rich told me about his trip to see his mother. Something about Kiel running ahead of him and sneaking onto the elevator in her apartment building; sending the elevator and himself down to the lobby before Rich even realized he was gone. Resulting in Rich having a brief moment of panic that Kiel had launched himself head first down the fourth-floor trash chute; the trash chute that Kiel finds fascinating. Fortunately, Kiel pressed the emergency call button on his trip down and as the elevator returned to the fourth floor, Rich heard someone from security repeatedly asking if something was wrong, giving him some assurance that Kiel was not in the dumpster but had instead taken a solo trip down to the lobby.
And then, as if they know they have me oh so close to that proverbial edge, those boys of mine do something so freaking adorable it pulls me back to reality, giving me at least another day to laugh and love with them. Because I know I'll take crazy with them, over sanity without them, any day of the week.
This is an original Philly Moms Blog post. Kristine also writes on her personal blog, Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine, where she chronicles the good, the bad, and the crazy of her life as a mother, wife and woman.
Before I had kids I knew exactly what to expect. And I knew I would have the most well-behaved kids ever.
Go ahead. Take a few minutes to laugh people, I deserve it.
This is an original Philly Moms Blog post. Kristine also writes on her personal blog, Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine, where she chronicles the good, the bad, and the crazy of her life as a mother, wife and woman.
May 09, 2010
Mother's Day. It's complicated.
I have a tenuous relationship at best with my own mother (and father). Without getting into the ugly of it all we just don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, most upsetting to me being how my husband and I are raising our kids. We have very limited contact with them now. Because of this I feel a huge void, because even at 42 there are times when all I want is “my mommy.”
And then there are the years I spent dreaming of a Mother’s Day where I was a mother, and crying in my bedroom because once again I wasn’t pregnant. Celebrating with the mothers in my life wasn’t horrible, it just highlighted that once again I wasn’t a mom. Every year that passed was harder. But I put on a happy face and endured, because if you aren’t going through it yourself, no one gets it.
Then finally we adopted our oldest son and I was a mom. And it was finally MY Mother’s Day. My FIRST Mother’s Day! And honestly, I wanted it to be all about me. I wanted to revel in finally being a mother on Mother’s Day. I wanted to hold my son and my husband close to me all day and let it just be about the three of us.
But I couldn’t. And not just because we spent most of the day with my mother-in-law and my husband's brother and his family. I couldn’t because I spent much of the day wondering if there was a woman half a world away in Russia mourning the loss of her own child. Even if Mother’s Day isn't celebrated on the same day in Russia (it is loosely tied in with International Women's Day as I understand it), wouldn't she still be mourning?
In my heart though, I felt this confusing mix of sadness and extreme happiness. Something hit me on that first Mother’s Day; thoughts that in the eight months my son had been home with us I hadn’t let myself think until then. I found myself feeling sad for my son’s birth mother. Here I had this amazing, gorgeous, happy little boy who had just learned to walk and was starting to talk. He enchanted me, as he continues to do (most days). He helped me become whole again after the pain of infertility. Yet I worried that my happiness was balanced by another woman’s heartbreak.
And I wondered if his birth mother was mourning him. If she went to bed at night thinking about him. If she cried her own tears of not having a child, as I had. And I had no way to know other than the certainty that if it was me I would be broken. Because it is so unfathomable to me to even consider a life without either of my boys, I have no ability to consider a reality in which she doesn’t think of him as well.
So on Mother’s Day I send a special thank you out to the universe for Noah’s birth mother. Just like I do on Noah’s birthday. Because if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have him, and I would not be the mother I am now.
I now also send to a special thank you out to the universe to the anonymous couple that gave us the gift of the embryo that became Kiel. I don’t have the same conflicting emotions for them, however. While I imagine they wonder what may have become of those embryos, I don’t think it is as tangible. What they gave us was the potential for a child, and whether they know or not that is the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.
So yes, Mother’s Day is complicated for me. A mix of joy tempered by the concern that my joy is at the expense of another woman's sadness.
So this year, after I’ve thanked and celebrated the other mothers in my life, I’m going to take some time to celebrate why I am a mother. Because to me the reason I am a mother is so much more important and worthy of celebration than celebrating me for what I do AS a mother. So I will celebrate my children, and in a moment of quiet, I will take some time to silently thank a woman in Russia and wish her peace. And I will thank the anonymous couple that gave me the "gift of potential" that became Kiel.
Noah and Kiel, I love you beyond anything I could ever imagine feeling. Noah you are my strength and Kiel you are my sunshine. Thank you for making me a mother.
Now please, can I just have a few extra hours of sleep?
This is an original Philly Moms Blog post. Kristine also writes on her personal blog, Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine, where she chronicles the good, the bad, and the crazy of her life as a mother, wife and woman. You can also find her on Twitter as momneedstherapy.
Mother's Day, adoption, birth mother, sadness
April 30, 2010
I am a Karate Momma
One thing that hasn't been part of my life in quite a while though is exercise. I've always hated sweating. And I prefer reading a book over anything requiring exertion. So imagine my surprise when my son's karate instructor convinced me to attend his adult karate classes last year.
Don't tell him I said this, but I'm pretty sure he is a vampire.
And no, he doesn't have pointy teeth. And he certainly doesn't sparkle in the sunlight (that I've seen anyway). But seriously, how else could he have gotten this 40-something, flabaliscious couch-potato off her tuchis and on a journey to earn a black belt, short of glamoring me a' la True Blood? It took some kind of special power that's for sure.
I'll tell you a secret. I thought I was going to die during those first few classes. I was that embarrassingly and pathetically out of shape. I avoided looking in the mirror at all costs during the classes because I felt like a Weeble in poorly fitting black PJ's and a white belt. I wouldn't be surprised if my instructor increased his liability coverage after he saw me trip and fall flat on my face (reminding me that I am indeed not a Weeble, because I do fall down) the first time I played sockey (some awful combination of soccer and hockey that everyone loves but me). I'm still proud of myself for not crying that day! Well, not until I got in my car and no one could see.
In all seriousness though, I'm the last person you would look at and think "wow, that woman is going to be a black belt some day!" Yet here I am, proudly wearing the purple belt that I earned last week, and committed to earning my black belt before I turn 45.
I'm still round. I still struggle to get through many of the workouts. I really struggle some weeks to get my classes in. And yes, I dread the monthly sockey games. But, I actually like how I feel when I'm in class! And I almost look forward to the sore muscles the next day (or three), because it reminds me I'm doing something good for myself. And for my family. Because I want to be a good role model for my kids, and more importantly, I want to BE ALIVE for them.
I no longer feel like the awkward, fat girl in class, even if I still am awkward and fat. I feel better physically and mentally. And I actually enjoy it. I never thought I'd find something related to exercise that I like!
Best of all? I can kick my husbands butt if I want to. But don't worry honey, I really don't want to! Today at least. But if you wake me up again by poking me like you did this morning? Well, lets just say I know some moves now that would make Mr. Happy not so happy. Just saying...
This is an original Philly Moms Blog post. When Kristine isn't mixing her vampire genres, kicking butt in karate, or wiping butts at home, she writes on her personal blog, Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine. You can also find her on Twitter as momneedstherapy.
I'll tell you a secret. I thought I was going to die during those first few classes. I was that embarrassingly and pathetically out of shape. I avoided looking in the mirror at all costs during the classes because I felt like a Weeble in poorly fitting black PJ's and a white belt. I wouldn't be surprised if my instructor increased his liability coverage after he saw me trip and fall flat on my face (reminding me that I am indeed not a Weeble, because I do fall down) the first time I played sockey (some awful combination of soccer and hockey that everyone loves but me). I'm still proud of myself for not crying that day! Well, not until I got in my car and no one could see.
In all seriousness though, I'm the last person you would look at and think "wow, that woman is going to be a black belt some day!" Yet here I am, proudly wearing the purple belt that I earned last week, and committed to earning my black belt before I turn 45.
I'm still round. I still struggle to get through many of the workouts. I really struggle some weeks to get my classes in. And yes, I dread the monthly sockey games. But, I actually like how I feel when I'm in class! And I almost look forward to the sore muscles the next day (or three), because it reminds me I'm doing something good for myself. And for my family. Because I want to be a good role model for my kids, and more importantly, I want to BE ALIVE for them.
I no longer feel like the awkward, fat girl in class, even if I still am awkward and fat. I feel better physically and mentally. And I actually enjoy it. I never thought I'd find something related to exercise that I like!
Best of all? I can kick my husbands butt if I want to. But don't worry honey, I really don't want to! Today at least. But if you wake me up again by poking me like you did this morning? Well, lets just say I know some moves now that would make Mr. Happy not so happy. Just saying...
This is an original Philly Moms Blog post. When Kristine isn't mixing her vampire genres, kicking butt in karate, or wiping butts at home, she writes on her personal blog, Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine. You can also find her on Twitter as momneedstherapy.
karate, black belt, working mother, vampire, exercise
April 09, 2010
Return receipt requested?
I cried when I first read the article, and even now, as I watch the news stories about it on CNN, there is a knot in my stomach that grows bigger with each report. Because, you see, this story hits far too close to home for me and my family.
Our 7-year-old son was adopted from Russia when he was six-months-old. He has psychological and behavioral problems that almost seven years into the adoption we are still trying to figure out. The reality is we probably have yet to touch the surface of what is going on in his mixed up little brain.
It has been a long journey for us. A journey not without rewards certainly, but mostly it has been a frustrating and intensely emotional one. I would be lying if I told you that we have never considered how different our life would be if we had not chosen Russian adoption as the way to start our family.
And as I admit to that, I also sit here and tell you I can only begin to imagine what Torry Hansen must have been going through to do something as extreme as to try to “return” her son. Because what I am piecing together is a story of a child that was psychologically damaged from his time in an institution, and a mother that did not know how to cope and ultimately feared for her own safety. I in no way condone what she did! But sadly I can at least begin to understand how she might have reached that point. Because yes, on our worst days I have daydreamed about putting my son on a plane and sending him back.
Please don’t misunderstand. We love our son with an intensity I can’t begin to describe. And that is one of the reasons I find this story so upsetting; because my son and our family are lucky. My husband and I have been able to find help for him, and for us. And over the last seven years despite days where we felt like we were living in hell, he is our son, and we will do everything in our power to help him.
Fortunately, there are many wonderful stories of Russian adoption. But there are also stories of children who are adopted by well meaning, loving families who have no idea how damaged their child really is, not only from the effects of orphanage life but from the devastating effects of birth mothers that drank alcohol during their pregnancy. Often these families don’t realize until months after they have their new child home just how serious the problems are.
I believe that many families are not properly prepared emotionally when they adopt a child that has spent his life in an institution. Not only are they unprepared for the realities of life when they come home, but they are even more unprepared when they are in Russia and meet a child for the first time; because as horrible and sad as it is to admit, there are children that are so damaged* from institutional life or the poor choices their birth mothers made while pregnant, that they will never be able to be part of a “normal” family.
And none of this takes into account that in the US our mental health system is sadly unprepared for children with serious mental health issues in general. Even when resources are available, often families don’t know they exist, or how to access them. Not to mention that health insurance frequently doesn’t cover such services.
I’m not arguing that Torry Hansen did the right thing. There were so many other avenues she could have taken. I imagine she is going to pay for this the rest of her life, whether legally or just with her own guilt. She will be villainized certainly. And sadly, there is a very good chance that Russia will attempt to use this to their benefit and stop, at least temporarily, US citizens from adopting from Russian orphanages.
And that is the real tragedy of this story. Because despite the problems Artyom may have (and I think in the coming days we will find out they are many), and the problems my son has, there are children in Russian orphanages that are resilient and the damage done to them can be overcome, and they deserve to be part of a loving family. But instead of a story like this helping to change expectations and encourage education and preparation for families adopting, it is more likely going to disrupt adoptions in process and possibly prevent or discourage adoption in the future.
*For a poignant and very honest story of adoption and the difficulties a post-institutionalized child can have, I highly recommend reading When Rain Hurts, a blog written by the mother of a boy with serious post-institutional and alcohol related issues.
This is an original Philly Moms Blog post. Kristine also writes on her personal blog, Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine, where she chronicles the good, the bad, and the crazy of her life as a mother, wife and woman. You can also find her on Twitter as momneedstherapy.
And as I admit to that, I also sit here and tell you I can only begin to imagine what Torry Hansen must have been going through to do something as extreme as to try to “return” her son. Because what I am piecing together is a story of a child that was psychologically damaged from his time in an institution, and a mother that did not know how to cope and ultimately feared for her own safety. I in no way condone what she did! But sadly I can at least begin to understand how she might have reached that point. Because yes, on our worst days I have daydreamed about putting my son on a plane and sending him back.
Please don’t misunderstand. We love our son with an intensity I can’t begin to describe. And that is one of the reasons I find this story so upsetting; because my son and our family are lucky. My husband and I have been able to find help for him, and for us. And over the last seven years despite days where we felt like we were living in hell, he is our son, and we will do everything in our power to help him.
Fortunately, there are many wonderful stories of Russian adoption. But there are also stories of children who are adopted by well meaning, loving families who have no idea how damaged their child really is, not only from the effects of orphanage life but from the devastating effects of birth mothers that drank alcohol during their pregnancy. Often these families don’t realize until months after they have their new child home just how serious the problems are.
I believe that many families are not properly prepared emotionally when they adopt a child that has spent his life in an institution. Not only are they unprepared for the realities of life when they come home, but they are even more unprepared when they are in Russia and meet a child for the first time; because as horrible and sad as it is to admit, there are children that are so damaged* from institutional life or the poor choices their birth mothers made while pregnant, that they will never be able to be part of a “normal” family.
And none of this takes into account that in the US our mental health system is sadly unprepared for children with serious mental health issues in general. Even when resources are available, often families don’t know they exist, or how to access them. Not to mention that health insurance frequently doesn’t cover such services.
I’m not arguing that Torry Hansen did the right thing. There were so many other avenues she could have taken. I imagine she is going to pay for this the rest of her life, whether legally or just with her own guilt. She will be villainized certainly. And sadly, there is a very good chance that Russia will attempt to use this to their benefit and stop, at least temporarily, US citizens from adopting from Russian orphanages.
And that is the real tragedy of this story. Because despite the problems Artyom may have (and I think in the coming days we will find out they are many), and the problems my son has, there are children in Russian orphanages that are resilient and the damage done to them can be overcome, and they deserve to be part of a loving family. But instead of a story like this helping to change expectations and encourage education and preparation for families adopting, it is more likely going to disrupt adoptions in process and possibly prevent or discourage adoption in the future.
*For a poignant and very honest story of adoption and the difficulties a post-institutionalized child can have, I highly recommend reading When Rain Hurts, a blog written by the mother of a boy with serious post-institutional and alcohol related issues.
This is an original Philly Moms Blog post. Kristine also writes on her personal blog, Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine, where she chronicles the good, the bad, and the crazy of her life as a mother, wife and woman. You can also find her on Twitter as momneedstherapy.
adoption, Russia, orphanage, Artyom Savelyev, Torry Hansen, institution
Comments
Regina Raiford Babcock said...
This story is heartbreaking. My heart goes out to this poor child and his overwhelmed and misguided family. I also worry about the families in the middle of the adoption process with agencies that do Russian adoptions who will be adversely effected if Russia halts all adoptions. I am an adoptive parent and I am always saddened while an adoption tragedy occurs, because the media tends to either portray adoption as a syrupy sweet Hallmark made-for-TV movie where everyone in the newly formed family is happy each and every minute of the day or as a horror flick with callous adoptive parents and damaged adoptive kid bombs. Adoptive families are real families and real families have problems and successes. I wish people got a more balanced view of adoption and that there was support for families in crises.
Mark Hodges said...
The problem here is two-fold: adoption agencies in the US are obviously not preparing parents for possible mental problems, and the parents are obviously not doing their homework.
Anyone who adopts a child over 2 years old who has been living in an orphanage since birth, needs to know that this child will likely have some mental/emotional issues, and they need to be prepared for the worst. I am sick of seeing stories like these where parents jump into the complicated matter of adopting a child from an orphanage (especially an older child) and then act surprised when there are issues.
This is reality: these kids are damaged goods. It is not their fault, and they need parents who are prepared to deal with their issues. That means pre-adoption counseling and learning how to face potential problems. If the potential parent can't handle even this much preparation, then they have no business adopting in the first place.
Anyone who adopts a child over 2 years old who has been living in an orphanage since birth, needs to know that this child will likely have some mental/emotional issues, and they need to be prepared for the worst. I am sick of seeing stories like these where parents jump into the complicated matter of adopting a child from an orphanage (especially an older child) and then act surprised when there are issues.
This is reality: these kids are damaged goods. It is not their fault, and they need parents who are prepared to deal with their issues. That means pre-adoption counseling and learning how to face potential problems. If the potential parent can't handle even this much preparation, then they have no business adopting in the first place.
amanda said...
Thanks for such an honest and informative post. Good luck to you and your family!
Kristen Howerton said...
This is so well written. Thank you for your honesty. We just adopted a boy from an orphanage in Haiti. He is only three but it is still VERY HARD. This mother made a horrible decision, but I have compassion for her situation. I don't think anyone can imagine life with a mentally ill/attachment disordered child unless you have been there. I was furious when the Russian authorities had a conversation with him and then came out and told reporters, "He's fine! Totally healthy!" That is one of the hardest parts of attachment/psychiatric issues. They don't look sick. It sounds like this poor young boy was very disturbed and the parents found themselves unprepared and overwhelmed. It is a tragedy.
Sharon said...
Thanks for sharing your experience so honestly. I'm the mother of three internationally adopted children, adopted at nearly 3, 4 and 6 years of age, and I know how hard it can be to deal with the impact of institutionalization... but at the same time, I have trouble working up any sympathy for this adoptive family given how they handled the situation. They had a responsibility to educate themselves about reasonable options for themselves and for the child, and to work with their agency to resolve the matter in some way. Putting the boy on the plane with a note like he's Paddington Bear is so beyond the realm or reasonable that it only compounds the tragedy.
Snowcatcher said...
Thank you for writing this. I, too, can't condone Torry's actions, but as an adoptive parent, I certainly understand the underlying emotions. Thank you for trying to help others understand the part of the story that doesn't make headlines.
Gigi said...
Obviously Russian authorities are going to be in major denial and declare "he is fine".. I can't imagine them being honest and subjecting him to an evaluation from a team of behavioral psychologists/child psychiatrists (don't know who does this.)
Thank you for your perspective.
Thank you for your perspective.
Pamelakapler said...
This is very powerful Kat. Your honestly comes through in such a way that I think a lot of people can relate, even though we may not be in a situation such as this one.
March 26, 2010
Take those sex offenders somewhere else, we don't want them here! Or do we?
The issue? The creation of a transitional living facility for three older teenage boys convicted of sexual offenses as juveniles.
I’ll stop and give you a few seconds now to pick your jaw up off the floor, because I bet the thought going through your mind right now is “are you freaking kidding me? You are in favor of moving rapists into your community?”
It’s a pretty visceral reaction isn’t it? “Hell no, not in my town!”
And yes, that is what many people spoke up and said at Monday night’s community information session held by Doylestown-based Edison Court, a non-profit organization that specializes in the treatment of juvenile sex offenders, sexual abuse victims and their families.
I urge you to read the articles written in The Intelligencer, our local paper, here, here and here. And then please come back, because I’d like to have a serious and respectful discussion about an issue that is affecting more than just my community of Warrington. I hope you’ll move beyond the initial knee-jerk reaction you might have had when you read my first few sentences and differentiate between your perceived fear and what the real risk is.
I don’t deny this is a serious and scary issue. As a parent with young kids I would do absolutely anything in my power to protect them. I was at that meeting because I wanted to hear more about the issue, and make sure I understood what was being proposed before I took a stand. Because when I heard that juvenile sex offenders would be housed in my community I wanted to know more, so I did some research. And what I found out didn’t scare me. In fact, I was proud to know that we have an organization like Edison Court in Bucks County; an organization that is doing some amazing work with teenagers that would otherwise be lost to the system. Yes, these kids did something horrible, because no matter how you spin it, sexual offenses are horrible. These are also kids that in most cases would be part of a system that managed them, but didn’t treat them. And then at age 21, they would be released from the system regardless of suitability or treatment compliance. You might say the kids at the heart of this issue got lucky, because they qualified for and entered a program that is set up to provide intensive therapy and rehabilitation and is giving them a chance to become productive members of society. The fact is that there is a difference between the juvenile sex offenders Edison Court works with, and the violent, pedophilic adult sex offenders that so many people think of when they hear the words “sex offender.”
So I attended that meeting to listen, and see if any of those initial, visceral fears I had were founded. While I do believe that most people deserve second chances, especially kids, I’m not willing to give someone a second chance at the real risk of my own family being hurt.
I assumed I would be witnessing a civil conversation between Edison Court and members of my community. Naively, I expected a respectful dialogue that would address our fears and help us as a community understand the real issues and the real risks of this project. The reality is that the individuals they want to place in this transitional living environment are three teenagers that have successfully completed a rigorous inpatient treatment program over a 2.5 to 3 year period, but do not have a family that is able to, or that they are willing to, go back to. They have earned the right to increased community interaction. While the crimes they committed are by definition horrible, they were not done using aggression or weapons.
Instead, I witnessed some very un-civil behavior directed at the representatives of Edison Court as they stood in front of a largely hostile crowd and attempted to answer our questions and help us understand the real issues. Most of the people in the audience didn’t want to hear that what was being proposed would add an additional layer of support and protection not only for these teenagers, but for the community at large. Because the reality is that if this transitional living facility doesn’t come to fruition, these teenagers will be released into the community on their own, with no supervision.
There were a few people that asked good questions and spoke of their fear and concerns in a respectful manner. Unfortunately, the majority of people that spoke up made it clear with their actions and voice that they didn’t want to hear the answers or explanations. Several people yelled, a few cursed. There were shouts of “liar” from the crowd. It was clear that most of the people there had made up their mind on this issue before the meeting even started. And they were mad! And scared. And nothing that was said was going to change what they believed.
Some people came prepared with statistics, and newspaper articles, and definitions. The only problem was the information they were “sharing” was about violent adult sex offenders and wasn’t relevant to the juvenile offenders that Edison Court works with. Several times I heard statements from the crowd that “these deviants can’t be rehabilitated.”
As I listened to my neighbors speak against this project I found myself disappointed with my own community. First, because many of the people that spoke up commended Edison Court for what they were doing, but made it very clear that they should go somewhere else to do it. “Not in my back yard! Let another town deal with it.” One woman even stood up from her seat and yelled “If their own parents don’t want them, why should we?”
I sat there wondering what had happened to our humanity. When did we lose our compassion for other people? When did we lose our ability to reason? And why is it OK to push off our problems onto another community?
And I realized that no one was going to speak up in support of this project, or these kids. Not a single person raised their voice to say “hey, you guys aren’t listening! You aren’t looking at the real issue. You have scared yourselves silly but you don’t understand the real risk.” Were there people there thinking as I did? Were they just too scared to stand up and say it, I wondered?
There is a theory in social psychology called the “spiral of silence” that asserts that a person is less likely to voice an opinion on a topic if he/she feels they are in the minority, for fear of reprisal or isolation from the majority. I can relate to that fear because I too sat in that meeting with no plan to voice my opinion. I sat through 2 ½ hours of that meeting before I couldn’t take it any longer and after listening to one particularly idiotic blow-hard, I stood up. I walked to the front of that room, took the microphone, and told the people there that I was disappointed in their lack of compassion and reason.
I’ll be honest; I don’t remember exactly what I said. At one point I remember thinking, “oh crap, that’s really me talking.” I know that I was trying to ask the crowd to listen, to try and understand what was being proposed, and to stop fanning the flame of a misguided fear. I remember telling a woman that was yelling at me that what she was screaming about wasn't the real problem. And when a woman in the front row started swearing at me, I stood there and waited until she was done, then started talking again.
By the time I finished and walked back to my seat I was shaking. But I knew I had done the right thing. Continuing to sit there and listen to the misinformed fear of my peers and say nothing, was wrong. Even though I know I didn’t change anyone’s mind, and I'm sure I could have said it better, I’m proud of myself. And when I went to bed that night I knew I had done the right thing.
I'm still wondering if I was the only person in that room in favor of this project. Or maybe I am just incredibly naive.
This is an original Philly Moms Blog post. Kristine also writes on her personal blog, Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine, where she chronicles the good, the bad, and the crazy of her life as a mother, wife and woman. You can also find her on Twitter as momneedstherapy.
juvenile sex offenders, rehabilitation, Warrington, Edison Court, fear, spiral of silence, not in our town, Bucks County
Comments
Debbie Owensby Moore said...
Good for you! It is hard to fight for justice. When I see the hate associated with the passage of health care, I feel the same way. The voice of reason and appropriate dialogue has given way to factless fear-mongering. But I am forever hopeful, that reason does eventually win out.
Kristine said...
It's incredibly sad and frustrating isn't it? I felt like this was an extreme example of a much bigger problem of people not wanting to look beyond their own interests. Not to mention the irrational fear that seems to take over so easily.
Bennie said...
Recidivism amongst juveniles is extremely low, slightly lower than adult recidivism. In both groups of juveniles and adults there is a very small minority of individuals who are truly dangerous but the majority are not. This has been proven so many times over, but this is not what many people want to hear, and thus they don't.
It take courageous people to speak up, and often. As an activist for human rights, civil rights, and fairness in the laws, I have with other grassroots groups on this issue of sex offenders know that the fears most people have are fears of willful ignorance born out of unfounded hate.
We fight to help give people their lives back, lives taken away through excessively harsh laws pandering to fear and hate. I am glad you did what you did, but more need to be done.
It take courageous people to speak up, and often. As an activist for human rights, civil rights, and fairness in the laws, I have with other grassroots groups on this issue of sex offenders know that the fears most people have are fears of willful ignorance born out of unfounded hate.
We fight to help give people their lives back, lives taken away through excessively harsh laws pandering to fear and hate. I am glad you did what you did, but more need to be done.
stephanie anderson said...
As a former social worker (ie: before I started staying at home with my daughter), I appreciate your ability and willingness to not just "put yourself in their shoes," but to do the RESEARCH necessary to make an informed decision. I'm not sure how I'd feel about such an establishment being erected in my town. But I'd want to know more about the organization backing it. And you've done that. And while this might down the road make me a hypocrite, I wonder how someone would feel if it were reveresed: what if THEIR kid had committed the infraction. What kind of hope, grace and rehabilitation opportunities would they desire to be extended to them?
Kristine said...
Exactly Stephanie! What if it was your child? When did it become OK to only worry about yourself?
I just want to know that people are taking the time to understand the issue, and not assuming the worst. Fear can be a dangerous thing.
I just want to know that people are taking the time to understand the issue, and not assuming the worst. Fear can be a dangerous thing.
hopefulmother said...
I just saw a movie called "Little Children" with Kate Winslet starring, that touches on the issue of rehabilitation of sex offenders. I can definitely see both sides of this issue - and it is important to look at each case individually, as a *person* to determine the right course of action.
But what does it say, that as a society, we don't believe our system can "rehabilitate" these offenders? But we're willing to release them anyway? I don't understand the role of the prisons - is it punishment, rehabilitation, both or neither?
But what does it say, that as a society, we don't believe our system can "rehabilitate" these offenders? But we're willing to release them anyway? I don't understand the role of the prisons - is it punishment, rehabilitation, both or neither?
Irene van der Zande said...
Good article. Here's a free article from Kidpower about how to protect your children from both identified and non-identified sex offenders who might be living in your neighborhood.
http://www.kidpower.org/resources/articles/sex-offender.html
http://www.kidpower.org/resources/articles/sex-offender.html
Aran Johnson said...
It is true that a convicted sex offender is potentially dangerous. However, my many orders of magnitude, your child is more likely to get injured or killed by a neighbor who drives home drunk one night. Nobody forces alcoholics or convicted drunk drivers to register. Even worse ... someone could actually be a convicted murderer released early, move in next door and you won't ever know.
March 22, 2010
Biological or Adopted? and Filling out the 2010 Census
Oh yeah, I also just finished filling out the 2010 Census form.
This is the third census form I've filled out as an adult. It gives me a sense of fulfilling my civic duty, just like when I vote. It took me about ten minutes to fill it out. It probably would have taken less time except I was a bit taken aback when I got to question two when I was entering the information for my two sons. That question asks how this person is related to Person 1 (the first person entered in the form). The options you can check are "biological son or daughter," "adopted son or daughter," or "stepson or stepdaughter."
I suppose if we hadn't created our family the way we did I wouldn't think twice about it, but we did, and I do, and the question upset me a little.
At first I was irritated that I was being asked to differentiate between my two children. They are both my sons! They both took a hell of a lot of my blood, sweat and tears to get them here. And since we weren't able to create a family the "old fashioned" way, they both cost us a damn lot of money to get them here too. So why do I need to indicate that my oldest is my "adopted" son? He's no different from my youngest son as far as being my son. I'm hard pressed to think of any rational for this differentiation and my quick search on-line didn't help me either.
But then I started to fill out the information for my youngest and I was actually stumped. Because he doesn't really fit either of the three options if you want to get down and dirty technical with it. Because despite the fact that I was pregnant with him and gave birth to him, he is not genetically related to me or my husband. Since he is the result of embryo donation can I technically consider him my biological child?
I looked up the definition of "biological" and on the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary it defines it as "connected by direct genetic relationship rather than by adoption or marriage." On the American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition and the The American Heritage® Stedman's Medical Dictionary it is defined as "related by blood or genetic lineage."
I assume that when they came up with the questions for this census something like embryo adoption didn't factor in there. I guess egg donation and sperm donation didn't either. It's actually a little tricky when you fill out the form, because depending on who you list as person number 1 dictates how you would "technically" answer this question. Do a Google search and see how this question is troubling the LGBT community.
So did you send your Census back yet? And if you did, what did you think of that question, especially if you have "biological" kids? Did you think the options were strange?
This is an original Philly Moms Blog post. Kristine also writes on her personal blog, Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine, where she chronicles the good, the bad, and the crazy of her life as a mother, wife and woman.
Photo Credit: U.S. Census Bureau, Public Information Office
2010 census, forms, civic duty, biological, adopted, child, LGBT, questions
Comments
Laura Scarborough said...
the differentiation the Census asked us to place on our five children irritated me too. i fail to see why the US govt needs to know whether i have given birth to them or adopted them especially after the adoption finalization of one of our children the judge told us that this child was now truly OUR child in the eyes of the law. i dutifully filled out my form but i did not answer that question for any of my children. i wonder if the Census will come knocking? if they do i will be happy to tell them...AFTER they tell me how this will benefit our country, our state, our county, our town.
Nicole Pelton said...
My kids aren't adopted, but I too was wondering why they would differentiate between the two.
pa adoptee said...
I am adopted and I will not enter the race questions because i do not know my race, nor my children's because that genetic information is sealed and kept from me by the government. i will not lie and put white (Caucasian) , and i will not let census workers fill that out for me as well. i will not fill out the census until someone comes and knocks at my door so I can tell them why i won't complete those sections.
Mara said...
Recently, I found the 2010 Census form hanging on my door. As I began filling it out, I came across a dilemma. The U.S. government wants to know if my children are adopted or not and it wants to know what our races are. Being adopted myself, I had to put “Other” and “Don’t Know Adopted” for my race and “Other” and “Don’t Know” for my kids’ races.
Can you imagine not knowing your ethnicity, your race? Now imagine walking into a vital records office and asking the clerk for your original birth certificate only to be told “No, you can’t have it, it’s sealed.”
How about being presented with a “family history form” to fill out at every single doctor’s office visit and having to put “N/A Adopted” where life saving information should be?
Imagine being asked what your nationality is and having to respond with “I don’t know”.
It is time that the archaic practice of sealing and altering birth certificates of adopted persons stops.
Adoption is a 5 billion dollar, unregulated industry that profits from the sale and redistribution of children. It turns children into chattel who are re-labeled and sold as “blank slates”.
Genealogy, a modern-day fascination, cannot be enjoyed by adopted persons with sealed identities. Family trees are exclusive to the non-adopted persons in our society.
If adoption is truly to return to what is best for a child, then the rights of children to their biological identities should NEVER be violated. Every single judge that finalizes an adoption and orders a child’s birth certificate to be sealed should be ashamed of him/herself.
I challenge all readers: Ask the adopted persons that you know if their original birth certificates are sealed.
Can you imagine not knowing your ethnicity, your race? Now imagine walking into a vital records office and asking the clerk for your original birth certificate only to be told “No, you can’t have it, it’s sealed.”
How about being presented with a “family history form” to fill out at every single doctor’s office visit and having to put “N/A Adopted” where life saving information should be?
Imagine being asked what your nationality is and having to respond with “I don’t know”.
It is time that the archaic practice of sealing and altering birth certificates of adopted persons stops.
Adoption is a 5 billion dollar, unregulated industry that profits from the sale and redistribution of children. It turns children into chattel who are re-labeled and sold as “blank slates”.
Genealogy, a modern-day fascination, cannot be enjoyed by adopted persons with sealed identities. Family trees are exclusive to the non-adopted persons in our society.
If adoption is truly to return to what is best for a child, then the rights of children to their biological identities should NEVER be violated. Every single judge that finalizes an adoption and orders a child’s birth certificate to be sealed should be ashamed of him/herself.
I challenge all readers: Ask the adopted persons that you know if their original birth certificates are sealed.
March 03, 2010
Are booger eaters smarter than booger wipers?
I was at a birthday party recentl
y with my 7 year-old son. While the kids were making their party favors several of the moms were sitting around talking. Of course our conversation turned to kids, and as we witnessed one of the boys mine for nostril gold, the conversation turned to kids and boogers.
One of the mom's commented that kids are either booger eaters or booger wipers, and then speculated that whether or not a kid was a booger eater or a booger wiper was genetic. It turned into quite the conversation as we compared notes and yes, our own personal booger history (booger wiper!). I was surprised at how some of the moms even knew if their husbands were eaters or wipers as kids (mine claims he was, and still is, a wiper).
One of the mom's commented that kids are either booger eaters or booger wipers, and then speculated that whether or not a kid was a booger eater or a booger wiper was genetic. It turned into quite the conversation as we compared notes and yes, our own personal booger history (booger wiper!). I was surprised at how some of the moms even knew if their husbands were eaters or wipers as kids (mine claims he was, and still is, a wiper).
Since I'm not linked genetically to either of my boys (I have both an eater and a wiper, btw) I really couldn't comment on the theory per se, but it certainly is an interesting twist on the nature versus nurture debate.
While clearly a silly conversation, it did get me thinking. So, like all good pseudoscientists, I turned to the internet to see what it had to say about booger picking and found this little gem about booger eating. It appears that a few years ago Dr. Friedrich Bischinger, a lung specialist in Austria, gained some notoriety by endorsing the picking and eating of boogers, especially by children. According to Dr. Bischinger people who pick their noses with their fingers (the finger is key, yo!) are healthier, happier, and more in tune with their bodies.
Apparently, the finger is key because it allows you to dig into the nooks and crannies that a handkerchief or tissue can't reach, keeping your nose cleaner. And the only comment I have to this is, "well, duhh!"
He also claims that "eating the dry remains of what you pull out is a great way of strengthening the body's immune system. The nose is a filter in which a great deal of bacteria is collected, and when this mixture arrives in the intestines it works just like a medicine."
I suppose this makes sense in a rather ewwww kind of way if you discount the effects of stomach acid, etc.. However, as I sit here enduring day three of the cold from hell, I can't say I'm at all motivated to test out his theory. Nor am I very concerned that my career as a pharmacist is at risk.
I just wish I had this little gem of information during our momversation about eating and wiping. Because if Dr. B's theory is true, now I'm wondering if there isn't a genetic link between booger eating and intelligence.
This is an original Philly Moms Blog post. Kristine also writes on her personal blog, Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine, where she chronicles the good, the bad, and the crazy of her life as a mother, wife and woman.
I just wish I had this little gem of information during our momversation about eating and wiping. Because if Dr. B's theory is true, now I'm wondering if there isn't a genetic link between booger eating and intelligence.
So how about you? Are your kids eaters or wipers? Or as my Facebook friends pointed out, flickers? Or is flicking a subcategory of wiping? And what about those of you with booger farmers?"Oh just look at my little Johnny, such a smart boy eating his own boogers! He takes after his daddy you know."
Oh my, who knew there could be such complexity to boogers!
This is an original Philly Moms Blog post. Kristine also writes on her personal blog, Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine, where she chronicles the good, the bad, and the crazy of her life as a mother, wife and woman.
booger, children, child, eating, nose picking, booger eating, nostril
Comments
EvonneY said...
If booger eaters are smarter, then my two-year-old is a genius! I've been struggling with how to prevent her from picking her nose, but at this point, nose picking is her best option: she's too little to blow her nose and she is in that stage where she can't stand anything including tissues, touching her face. Thanks for a good laugh!
Rita said...
I already knew it before your theory, my grandson is a genius LOL
MomInTheTrench said...
Haha, if that's true then my daughter (no genes shared) should be a freakin' GENIUS! She even licks her armpit sweat. . .does that get bonus points?
February 15, 2010
My children are conspiring to drive me crazy!
Like this morning when Noah was in our bedroom at 6:30 with his newest box of Lego's, insisting he build it right then and there. His excitement at starting a new "project" so clear, that Rich and I just rolled over and let him.
Or yesterday, when Kiel used the front of the dishwasher as a step to reach the crock of brown sugar on the counter. The brown sugar he covered the clean dishes in the dishwasher, the floor and himself with. And then, as if to confuse me with his cuteness, he presented me with a cup of brown liquid, his special mix of sugar and water. A brown liquid that I at first could not identify, until I noticed the sugar all over his clothes and face. And still, his ability to do all of this in less than sixty seconds confounds me.
Or last week, when I caught Noah teaching Kiel how to push the button on the water dispenser on the refrigerator so he could drink from it as it poured out in a stream onto the floor. I applaud their thoughtfulness in not providing me with another glass to wash, but seriously boys, seriously...
Do you think they planned it together when Kiel fell no less than three times this weekend, hitting his head in the exact same spot that required twelve stitches and a Saturday evening in the ER a few months ago? Three falls that found my typically relaxed parenting style, where my response when one of them falls is usually along the lines of "ehh, shake it off, you'll be fine," turning into "we are getting rid of all the non-foam furniture in this house and buying him a helmet" style.
How much thought do you think they put into it when Kiel insists, over and over, that he drink like a kitty from the cats water dish? Or when I find him doling out the cat treats in a "one for me, one for them" style?
Sometimes I don't even need to be directly involved, just hearing about their antics takes me one step closer. Like today, when Rich told me about his trip to see his mother. Something about Kiel running ahead of him and sneaking onto the elevator in her apartment building; sending the elevator and himself down to the lobby before Rich even realized he was gone. Resulting in Rich having a brief moment of panic that Kiel had launched himself head first down the fourth-floor trash chute; the trash chute that Kiel finds fascinating. Fortunately, Kiel pressed the emergency call button on his trip down and as the elevator returned to the fourth floor, Rich heard someone from security repeatedly asking if something was wrong, giving him some assurance that Kiel was not in the dumpster but had instead taken a solo trip down to the lobby.
And then, as if they know they have me oh so close to that proverbial edge, those boys of mine do something so freaking adorable it pulls me back to reality, giving me at least another day to laugh and love with them. Because I know I'll take crazy with them, over sanity without them, any day of the week.
This is an original Philly Moms Blog post. Kristine also writes on her personal blog, Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine, where she chronicles the good, the bad, and the crazy of her life as a mother, wife and woman.
edge of insanity, antics, kids
Comments
Heather Bergemann said...
This totally sounds like the days I have with my 2 boys! It's amazing that I live through some days - nevermind them! Thanks for the reminder that I'm not alone;)
Emily Boling said...
So, we need to get our boys together in a locked, padded room, and then have multiple drinks! The dishwasher situation KILLS ME EVERY TIME!!!
Pamela @ 2 much testosterone said...
One time, my middle boy used the towel rack in the bathroom as a pull-up bar, yeah, in our rental apartment.
Another time, he flushed an entire box of wipes down the toilet. Yeah, another rental, this one three stories. This toilet was on the top floor and the water overflowith all the way to the basement.
Kids keep you sanely away from being in the corner rocking away with the drool hanging out of your mouth corner. Afterall, they wouldn't give you enough time to reach that state of comatose! That would be too restful...
Love you girl!
Another time, he flushed an entire box of wipes down the toilet. Yeah, another rental, this one three stories. This toilet was on the top floor and the water overflowith all the way to the basement.
Kids keep you sanely away from being in the corner rocking away with the drool hanging out of your mouth corner. Afterall, they wouldn't give you enough time to reach that state of comatose! That would be too restful...
Love you girl!
Jessica said...
Whew, I'm glad we decided to stop at 1. I couldn't imagine 2 boys, my little guy is a handful already at 22 months. Thanks for the laugh this morning!
February 01, 2010
Second guessing my parenting decisions: black belt choices
I call it the Target Syndrome. I would be shopping in Target, see kids misbehaving and think “Oh no, my kids will never act like that! What a shame their parents don’t know how to discipline.”
I’m actually not sure whether to laugh at myself right now or kick myself.
I had it all figured out, that’s for sure.
Then I really did have kids. And oh boy, did karma bite me in the ass when he gave me our oldest son.
Raising Noah has been one bout of second guessing our decisions after another. None of this is made easier with his neuro-nontypical brain and the fact that everything with him is bigger or faster or grander than we expected; the good and the difficult.
One of the struggles we have been facing recently is that he has decided he no longer wants to go to his karate classes during the week. He’s fine going on Saturday mornings. Same class, same instructor, same kids. He can’t however give me a reasonable explanation for why on Wednesday he wants to quit karate, but on Saturday he’s fine when its time to go. He's not tired he says, he just doesn't want to go.
For several weeks I would get Noah to karate class on Wednesday afternoon and he would refuse to participate. He would sit and watch the class, but that was it. It felt like a very intense battle of wills; a standoff between a very stubborn boy and a mother who was desperately hoping she was doing the right thing.
When I was in fourth grade I took a baton twirling class. I don’t remember if it was my idea or my parents, but I know I was excited about it. I had to wear a leotard, which was probably the first traumatic thing about the class. I was a round child (much like I am as an adult sadly). I much preferred reading to running (again, much like I do as an adult). There was nothing cute about me in a leotard, and even in fourth grade I realized that. I was very excited about the baton though and learning how to twirl it. If I recall correctly I wasn’t horrible at it, at least not during the twirling part of class. But at the end of every class they would line us all up and having us strut across the floor and then do something fancy (or in my case impossible), like a cart wheel or flip, while we held the baton.
To put it as simply as possible, my butt has never been able to position itself above my head, at least not purposely and with lots of help. That part of class did not go well for me. It didn’t take many classes before I didn’t want to go anymore. I don’t remember a whole lot about how it ended, but I do know my mother didn’t make me finish out the classes. I’ve always been grateful for that. And because of that experience as a child, as a parent I promised myself that if one of my kids didn’t want to do an activity like that I wasn’t going to force them. I wasn’t going to just let them start and then quit things, but I also wasn’t going to make them suffer through something that was distressful for them.
If Noah was a typical kid I would have started to question if he just didn’t enjoy karate anymore and that we should consider stopping. But Noah isn’t a typical kid, and karate offers him discipline and structure that he needs. And with his ADHD and super-high energy level, giving him a structured place to use some of that energy is highly preferable to the couch jumping argument we have on a daily basis. More importantly though, is that when he is actually participating in the class he is having fun. And he’s good at it.
Confounding all this second guessing is that I started training in karate a few months after Noah did and I love it! I was hoping it would be something the two of us could share. Mother and son black belts!
So when someone asked me why I was continuing to make Noah go to karate if he didn’t want to, I gave it some serious thought. And like just about every decision my husband and I make regarding Noah I started second guessing myself.
Was I making him do something that he truly didn’t like anymore? Was I making him do it for me and not for him? Was it just too much for him during the week with school?
As a parent how do you judge that line? When do you make your kids follow through on an activity and when do you let them decide it is time to stop?
In our case after a few classes of sitting on the sidelines Noah decided five minutes before the end of one class he wanted to participate. Let me tell you I breathed a huge sigh of relief as he joined that class. It appeared the stand-off was over.
The next week he only told me he didn’t want to go once and when we got there he took part in the class with no hesitation. The week after that it was like none of this had happened.
Now we are back to “I love karate” and “I want to be a black belt."
I weathered the storm and made the right decision for Noah. This time. I think.
Does it ever get any easier?
karate, parenting choices, second guessing, child behavior
Comments
Rich said...
Congratulations on your first post!!
Shaundy said...
Kris- I love your blog! Your story gives me hope for my own battles with Quinn (6)!
