Boys to Men: Year 5

I started this tradition by accident one hot summer's day in 2006.  I was laying on the dock and my boys stood above me asking for snacks.  I snapped a picture.

THE BOYS 2006

And I loved the picture and so we did it again.

THE BOYS 2007

2008 was not a great year.  In fact it was a really crappy year and I was not feeling sentimental or traditional, I was just missing the baby girl that had left.  And so we didn't take that picture.  I regret that now.

The next summer we re-started our tradition. It was a giant shock to me to see two of my sons with armpit hair. 

THE BOYS 2009

This year, the shocking revelation of THREE sons with pit hair meant that the shirts went back on.  Honestly, there are some things mothers are just never really prepared for.  Your children hitting puberty one after the other is one of those things. 

THE BOYS 2010

Oh how I love my sons, who despite being bigger than me and having more hairy parts than me will always, always be my little boys.

How Not to Parent 101

Duct Tape Might Be Silver

But Silence is Golden

*He did it to himself, but I can't say we all didn't enjoy the 35 seconds of quiet from the continually rapping, teasing, snarky comment making teenager :)

Complicated Kids, Complicated Parenting

In the scheme of things, although the babies have been dominating blog discussion here lately, the boys require far more brain power to parent. The girls? Should I chop their grapes into slices or cubes? Huggies or Pampers? Soy or Dairy? It's BUSY but it doesn't require much in the way of continual brain stimulation.

Reality is, despite appearances or successes outside the home, my boys are complicated and parenting them can be a challenging process. No child comes through the system of being inadequately parented (even during pregnancy), orphanage care or foster care and adoption untouched. NO CHILD. If you are thinking of adopting and you think your story will be different, I will tell you quite clearly that you are wrong. This is the REALITY of older child adoption. Our kids have been hurt and the consequences of that hurt is often life long.

One son in particular tends to cycle through times of brilliance and times of continual opposition. We are in the midst of a continual opposition phase, that seems riddled with absolute seeming stupidity and escalates into continual parental frustration.

This week he carved up an antique desk that was given to me as a child by my grandmother. So being destructive would fall under the label of oppositional behavior. The stupidity? He carved his own initials. The frustration? When confronted he blamed the fact that when his now 8 year old brother was 2 he colored on his comforter and we didn't get HIM in big trouble so he shouldn't be in trouble now.

He had a math test on Monday that he refused to study for on his own, and refused my repeated offers of help over the weekend. He stated repeatedly that it was easy and he understood it all, and he would be just fine. All fine and good except on Monday morning as we were leaving the house I noticed writing on the palms of his hands. The math formulas needed for the test. Trying to cheat? Oppositional Behavior. Using a bright red marker to do so? Stupidity. The parental frustration? Denial that his barely passing grade was unacceptable and that being provided more opportunity to study (aka losing his tv privileges in the evenings) was extremely unreasonable punishment.

He is refusing every request and being severely oppositional all the time. The rest of the family tip toes around him knowing that any interaction will be an excuse for an argument or worse. The only ones getting his good behavior are the babies. With the babies he is happy, engaging, and completely appropriate.

In other words, it's driving the rest of the family insane. This isn't a post that I can wrap up with a quick resolution. Parenting complicated children with complicated histories is difficult. Those going into foster care adoption, older child adoption or adoption in general need to be aware that even with the gorgeous pictures full of beautiful smiles there are many years of hard work.

We regularly examine and re-examine our medication choices for him. We work daily to provide him the structure that he needs. We pay for an education that is unique so that he can succeed. We love him. We struggle. We survive the day and know the next morning will start again with someone being screamed at or screaming.

We don't know the whys or hows. It could be hormones. It could be trauma revisited with the arrival of Miss Precious whose infancy experience mirrors his own. It could be adoption related, brain damage related, or it could be we are just horrible parents. It could be really ANYTHING, and as I said, not so gently, to a support person in our lives this week, I really don't care about WHY anymore because the "why" doesn't really matter at this point. One more diagnosis won't change anything or open up any more doors for help. The reality is, it simply IS. We have to deal with the present and finding blame won't make ANY of us feel any better.

Complicated kids. Complicated lives. That is our reality. Some days its smiles and cuddles and precious moments, other days its being the mom of the kid who cheats on his math test and carves his name into a piece of furniture.

And that, I suppose, is the rest of the story.

Young Love

There is something amazing about watching your child, as large as a man, with a voice as deep as a man's, but still a child himself, whisper sweet, high pitched nothings into a baby's ear.

My boys, all 4, have enveloped both girls with a fierce and protective love. The babies are adored, hugged, snuggled, and talked to in a way that gives me a glimpse of the Fathers my sons will become. They care for the girls in a way that shows me that I have done my job in laying a foundation that will allow them to love a child with an all consuming love. To hope, and know, that we have broken the cycle that our oldest two stepped out of. Knowing, in fact, that THEY have broken the cycle of abuse and loss and abandonment for themselves.

And yet, when I think of how our family has enfolded and meshed completely with these two little lives, I remember the pain of prior loss, my stomach churns. Trying not to borrow worry about tomorrows, I choose to focus on today.

Today I will love these children fully.

Today I will celebrate that we are a family.

Today I will choose to mother them in the way it takes to heal them of their past hurts.

Today I will enfold their parents into our lives and support them on their journey.

Today is good.

Oh The Places You Will Go

My boys in 2006. From bottom clockwise, Caden is 5, Greg 10, Tanner 8, Eric 9

My Boys in 2007. Eric, Greg, Tanner and Caden

My boys in 2009. As you can tell now we deal with Pit Hair issues, but the smiles are just the same.


My Sons. I am blessed.

This is one of my favorite traditions and I hope you enjoy this pictorial recap of how the boys have grown over the years. I fully and completely realize I am not writing anything of substance but the July Summer Heat is sucking all creativity dry, add that to a certain Miss Tiny and a certain Miss Curious deciding to teethe at the same and blogging takes a back seat to cute kid pictures. Enjoy and I hope you too are relaxing and spending time with those you love most.

How are those boys?

This has been a time of emotional ups and downs in our house, as I am sure you can well imagine. The boys have each acted very, very different and I thought I would share in case anyone else ever faces similar circumstances one day.

Son #1 - 14 Let's just say the child has driven me to drink on more than one occasion. His way to cope with a sick mom and the big, scary "C" word is to push me away. When you think about it, this makes alot of sense. Greg has already lost two moms (one birth, one foster) and NOW his mom, the supposed-to-be-forever-one is sick. It's alot easier to push me away, stay angry and convince yourself that life would be almost BETTER without her than admit how very scared you are. We are talking this through, and I know it makes sense to him too that maybe, just maybe I haven't suddenly turned into the Witch of the West. When I left yesterday to make my way down for surgery in Vancouver, I got a hug, an "I love you mom" and a big smile. I love that kid so much, and seeing how scared he is makes me want to fight this all the more.

Son #2 - 13 This reaction has surprised me because Eric's world must stay safe and that is what he clings to always, as I have talked about extensively on here. Eric has matured about 8 years in 2 months. He is being helpful and considerate, sweet and silly. He is holding his temper (for the most part) and trying, I think in his own way, to pretend everything is all right by keeping it all right for himself. Add to that, the drama of the older brother, and Eric's new role as the "well behaved child" makes life much easier. I know, always, that there will be fall out with Eric when the stress of this time is done, his "pretend everything is perfect" response will crack with the weight of the emotion he is feeling, but for now all is ok. He loves me, and shows me how much with this gigantic effort.

Son #3 - 11 Tanner is about as problem and conflict avoidant of a child as you can generate. You add that dynamic to a child that is complaint to the extreme and you have a child that is under severe stress. Tanner is my child struggling the most and attempting to hide it the best. He has developed a nervous habit of picking at his finger cuticles, they are now all bleeding and raw. He is failing every single class in school - this a child that was labeled "highly gifted" by the school system two years ago. He has forged (repeatedly, as I discovered yesterday) my signature on school papers and notes home from the teacher. All this in an attempt to pretend everything is alright. I am not supposed to know about missing homework because "I have cancer", I am not supposed to know about the detentions because "I have cancer", I am not supposed to know that he is struggling because "I have cancer". The difficult part here is that he is SO sensitive and acts completely fine at home. We would never know that his school life is falling apart. He is cuddly and happy and wants to chat. He hides it all. You would never know. He thinks he is making the problem go away and poor kid, doesn't know how to cope. I wish I could gather up my little man, trying so hard to be a big man, and take away his fear.

Son #4 - 8 Caden is scared. Caden will tell you, the guy at the grocery store and mention it to your dog for good measure. Caden is here with me because he wants to see me in the hospital and being at home is not an option. Probably, he is handling it the best. Apparently he is single handily praying for a league or two of angels to be with me and sending along "Theo" his treasured stuffed puppy to accompany me into surgery. He wants to be brave and see me "with the tubes", and to his mind being here means he has some control over the outcome. I love, especially right now, that he wants to cuddle because lots of times, right now, I need to snuggle.

Husband - 38 Calm, cool, collected. And totally faking it! But that's ok, we both know that acting strong and brave and competent right now is what we need to do for our kids.

Today I spend in the hospital getting more tests, meeting the drug doctors and last round of consultations with the surgeon. I am at the hospital Monday morning at 6:30am, under the knife by 8 am. Out of surgery, if all goes well, by 1 pm and on my ward by 4 or 5 pm.

A Grief Shared - A Perfect Moment Monday

It was the very end of a very long day at the end of a very long week.

I had honored a woman who meant the world to me on this beautiful spring day surrounded by friends and family. We had laughed and shared stories. We had wept and embraced. Hours and hours had passed and we were at the very last moment of the day. I was completely spent, exhausted in a way that only such an emotionally draining experience can create.

It was time to say a final goodbye. Her ashes had been lowered into the strangely small hole. Everyone had laid their carnations on the spot that would be her final resting place. The crowd was dispersing and I quietly made my way to her grave to have a final moment alone.

I crouched over the spot. Tears finally falling freely and I shared some private words with the woman who was my Nan. I was alone and strangely felt very young and vulnerable.

Without looking up, I felt a presence and the warmth of a small arm stretch to wrap itself around me and the gentle pressure of a small body pressing into mine.

"Mommy, are you sad?" asked my gentle hearted and caring youngest son.

There he stayed, whispering endearments and words of comfort as only an eight year old can. "Mommy we will really miss her, won't we? She loved us very much Mommy. Are you still sad?" Finally sitting in silence, he held me close.

And then he began to weep along with me, and I in turn wrapped him in my arms and comforted my son. Together in our grief sharing tears for a woman who loved us, and whom we loved.

It was a moment I will never forget and I was oblivious to the fact it was being caught on film by a dear friend who recognized the beauty in the moment. My son, who loved me enough to join me in my grief and share his own with me. My son, who loves me and wants to be with me in my loss. My son, who I comfort and protect and love for the gentle boy he is. My precious, precious Caden.

Peace and Quiet Comes at a Cost Around Here

When I left the house Friday morning to attend Challenge Day (more on that coming later) Caden wasn't feeling very well.

By lunch Shel was home sick.

By breakfast on Saturday Tanner was down for the count.

By lunch, so was Eric.

High fevers, a nasty cough and a complete and total lack of energy. In fact, they slept and slept and slept.

Does it make me a bad mother that I actually enjoyed the first 36 hours? No fights, no mess, no bickering, no driving around. Quiet kids wanting to sleep undisturbed for hours on end. It was practically a mini-vacation.

Now that a few are feeling a bit better and demanding food and drinks but still too sick to get it themselves or clean up after themselves? Not quite so fun.

Boys, you can get better now.

Parenting Thoughts: Sometimes the Little Things are Big Enough

One of the glaringly obvious things I did not realize about parenting until I was a parent is how much WORRYING parents do. I don't necessarily mean the staring at the ceiling, crying into your pillow sort of worrying, which comes with the big stuff, I mean the careful considering and weighing of options that parents do over the little issues.

Should I start to supplement formula?

Is it ok if the baby food is pre-made?

Oh My Goodness, I microwaved something in the sippy cup, is it toxic now?

And that's just a tiny sample of what crosses your mind before you really have to worry about "raising" your kids.

Nanny or daycare? Preschool or Play Group? Potty Training? Vaccinations? There are about three thousand points to consider for each question, and every good mom I know spends a great deal of time thinking about these questions and many, many more.

And then they start to grow up. And the worrying doesn't get smaller, if anything it gets worse. Schools, teachers, friends, influences, world view, community, family, education, death, crushes are all issues that cross my mind as I feel the weight of the responsibility of raising my boys into Honorable Men. And so I give you two examples of what is currently on my mind.

The Valentine's Day Dance. Our son asked to go, but knew the answer before he did. I know our position isn't necessarily going to be popular, or maybe even understood with some readers but because of our faith & value system, but the answer is no. (To be clear, I don't think dancing is in anyway wrong, its the sexually driven "Dance" atmosphere I have a problem with for early teens). Being told no is a hard thing to hear for a kid surrounded by friends allowed to go. Its hard for me to watch him deal with it, even if he does so without complaint.

He said to me this morning, weighed down with visible stress, "Mom its HARD to be the most popular kid in grade 8 ** apparently self esteem isn't an issue here ** in a school of 950 kids. It's hard not to be allowed to do this stuff." By "this stuff" he means swear, attend dances, date frivolously, and be disrespectful to teachers. I know. And I worry for him. I worry that we are making the right decisions. I worry that if I compromise on this issue he will feel our faith can be compromised too. I worry that I am showing a trustworthy kid that I don't really trust him. I worry that if he goes, he will be exposed and tempted by issues I am not ready for him to be exposed and tempted by. I worry that in my attempt to raise him right, I am harming him - holding him back from rites of passage I should be bearing through gritted teeth.

In my worry, I came up with a solution he could live with - instead of the dance, he and several other kids we know that aren't allowed or chose not to go will be going out with me for a night of fun and craziness. We've got the pool rented to take kayaking lessons. We will eat dessert (ok THEY will eat dessert, I am still under 20 carbs a day!! Yeah for ME!!). Maybe watch a movie? I hope its fun. I will worry from now until then that it won't be. That it won't be enough. That my son will be sad for what he is missing instead of appreciating what he has.

What will he remember about this weekend 10 years from now? That his mom was mean, strict and ruined his life and he should have been able to go to the Grade 8 Valentine's Dance? That believing in God and walking out your faith means life is boring? That his mom rocked and planned something fun for him because she loved him? That kayaking in the pool was a blast, and he won't even be able to recall why it was he took those lessons that freezing February day? I worry.

Quebec Trip. Tanner was signed up, registered and our deposit paid. He was thrilled, excited, planning and all set to go in May. And now he is not.

We got the final cost total on Friday and its double what we ever expected to have to pay. We simply cannot afford it. No excuses but many reasons and its just impossible for me to pay for it right now. Economy, hockey, 4 kids, rising costs and a dying van all mean the money, any extra money, just isn't there. And my heart breaks for the precious, deserving child I had to explain this too.

He was gracious and accepting and even feels like he made the decision to NOT go all by himself. I gently explained that I could send all 4 boys to summer camp for a WEEK for HALF the cost of sending him to go to Quebec for 5 days. That the price we would pay for his trip is double the worth of the car his father drives. Tanner is always anxious to please and he seems to understand that the trip is a luxury the family just can't afford. But I worry.

Is he hiding his great disappointment by stuffing his feeligns? Is he going to regret this lost opportunity well into adulthood? Will he feel deprived? Looked over? Will he know how loved and appreciated and valued he is and on that we could never put a dollar value?

Of course I came up with a compromise - Summer camp (one tenth the cost of the Quebec trip and now seems cheap by comparison), spending the week he was supposed to be in Quebec between my sister and his God Father, a couple of private lessons with a goalie coach.

Am I offerring bribes? Is this just cushioning the blow? Is it enough?

Most mothers, I am sure, wish they could be everything to their kids. Provide everything, give everything, teach everything, protect from everything. There is no greater job, but no heavier responsibility.

I wouldn't trade a minute of all this worry for anything. ANYTHING.

Adoption Thoughts: The Middle Man

Imagine for a moment you are 13, or there-abouts. You are a pretty great kid with a beautiful smile and a family that loves you alot and most of the time you believe it. You are doing pretty good in school, even if you have to work really hard for it, and you are proud of that. You are a solid member of your hockey team, and even though you aren't a super star, you do your job and do it well. You have lots of friends that think you are really cool. You have your own room and parents that provide most of what you want and all of what you need. Life is good most days and GREAT others.

Sounds easy, doesn't it?

Now imagine you are 13, or there-abouts. You have learning issues that make school really tough and emotional special needs that make impulse control a challenge, oppositional impulses that create conflict with those around you continually and an attitude that gets you into trouble way more than you would like. You know you have special needs, but you hate them. You hate with a passion that you have food allergies that mean you cant drink pop, or eat cake or have chocolate bars like all the other kids. You hate with a passion that you have to take medications and you hate even more that you know you NEED to take medications. You resent that you can't handle freedom the same way as kids around you. You hate that you are different. You hate that you look different. You hate that anyone notices ANY of this stuff. Ever.

Add to that, you have an older brother who is bigger and stronger than you. His grades come fairly easy and he is a super star on his hockey team. He is cool and popular and you have always, always idolized him. No matter what you do, you feel like you can never measure up to him. His wall full of MVP trophies taunt you. You adore him, but resent his maturity that you seem to be unable to match. You will never be HIM, and that's all you want to be.

Makes things tougher, doesn't it? Now imagine your are that same 13 year old so there-abouts child with the older brother AND a younger brother.

In your books this younger brother has always been a threat. Maybe your parents like him more? Maybe your older brother likes him more? Maybe the world likes him more? Everything about him annoys you, and even though you know its not really his fault, it still ticks you off and you want to make him pay, and that in turn just gets you into more trouble. He is smart. Too smart and although younger than you, he has passed you academically and you know it. Then, even more offensively, he grew taller than you too. He is supposed to be a geek, and yet he has found a sport he is good at and he too has started bringing home MVP trophies. He is gentle and compliant and sensitive and doesn't seem to have the same sort of worries you do. He rarely gets into trouble. You hate all that about him. You love him, but you fear him too. You fear he is what you will never be - confident in ok with just being himself.

You are sandwiched and worse, your parents went and had a BABY. A, in your opinion, spoilt baby brother who gets away with EVERYTHING, who screams at you and won't let you beat him up. A baby brother who was "ok" to have around until you realized that he figures some things out faster than you can. A brother who can now point out your faults and lacks quite clearly as only an annoying 7 year old can. And he screams and shouts and raises a fuss in a way that your other brothers never have when you try anything with him. You'd like him more if he would just give in to your bullying and let you feel like you are better than SOMEONE in the family. But he won't and because you are "twice his age" your parents expect you to act older, more capable of restraint, when really you can't alot of the time.

And then you have a dog. A dog you had to earn. A dog that is yours. A dog you love. YOUR dog. YOUR responsibility. A dog who loves your mom. A dog who thinks she is your MOM'S dog.

And you are the same kid in the first paragraph as you are in the rest, and your name is Eric. You have a beautiful smile and gentle spirit and are easy to love. You are prickly and pokey and sometimes hard to like. You are often rude and oppositional and resent any sort of redirection. You love to snuggle with your mom and laugh at silly jokes. Your fuse is short and emotional outbursts overwhelm you at times, and you tend to be too rough with your brothers, and sometimes with your friends. You work very hard in school to get the marks you do, but refuse to accept or admit that you need any help. You struggle with the concept of time but know most of the names of players in the NHL. You scream, yell, throw things when angry, and act like nothing happened when you calm down. You crave boundaries and will push until you find them, and yet hate the person that enforces them. You trust few, manipulate many and very few really know who you are, what you fear and whom you love. You feign disinterest with great skill but feel everything deeply. You are who you are.

And you are stuck in the middle of us.

I was the oldest of two, my husband the youngest of four. Raising a child so clearly "in the middle" is new ground for us. If you have any insight, I would appreciate it.