WHY DID I TAKE THESE PICTURES???!!?

I decided to throw all (well, a few) of my pictures in here with a brief explanation.  This one is in honor of Essie.  HOW I miss her blog.  If you don't know why this photo, you have to read this post.  I say a prayer for Essie and her girls whenever I slam a cart (which doesn't seem at all the appropriate thing to do.....but, I can't think of anything better.)

Zhen turned twelve in November, and we went out for lunch. I guess I was too busy to actually post about it at the time (though it isn't that scintillating an event for those not involved, I know).  Also, (in my defense) he did not want a haircut when school time rolled around, or in October, or in November.....Frankly, I didn't want to take any pictures of him; he was looking like a mess, but I did break down and take a few on his birthday.  To my delight, he finally realized that his thick and coarse hair is not, no matter how long it gets, going to shine and glimmer as he shakes it into place.  I expect he wanted to look like Justin Bieber or some such.... It just isn't working out for him.

I took this photo of Anastasia and Zhenya returning cans and bottles at the store, only because it pleased me so much to see them working together.  Nothing like money as a motivator.

Also, I needed to distract myself from the absolute stench in this room.  The smell of stale beer - just too awful.

All summer I had a regular little treat - next to the door I'd planted a few tomato plants, given to us (grown from seed) by one of the Russian school moms.  This was my favorite plant - grape tomatoes, and the tastiest morsels imaginable.  It became an understood thing that this plant was "mama's".  Amost every day throughout July and on, there were a few for my delectation.  And, on they went....I actually took this photo sometime in November, the day it was going to freeze, thinking these were my final tomatoes. but even after all the foliage was dead, I got a couple more tomatoes just a few weeks ago. 

Three of my favorite Russian girls - they all came to Dana's funeral. Vika lives in Detroit; she and Sasha (center) were at Zhenya's orphanage.  Masha, on the right, is the sister of Misha, who was for years Sergei's best friend.  (And her mom gave me the tomatoes!)  It was touching to see how much these girls loved Dana, and recognized all she did for them. 

There was a little display at the funeral, with some of the notes and letters Dana had received from the children and parents she worked with.  I noticed this one, which Anastasia wrote several years ago.

I don't write much about work here, but I organized an "Activity Morning" for moms and preschoolers/homeschoolers the week before Christmas.  These are always a lot of work up-front, thinking of the activities, and providing all the supplies and planning ahead for every eventuality...but once that's done (!) the actual event is so much fun.   Here some boys work on the Christmas card activity. 

  

These girls are making Christmas ornaments - pictures of the Holy Family, mounted on card, and framed with colored macaroni.  The effect is actually kind of nice.   I frankly don't have the patience to do this, but it is a nice fine motor exercise for the children.

I have often had the children decorate Christmas cookies for themselves and their moms, but this time it occurred to me to have them make punch, too.  So, the helper poured the clear fizzy drink, and the children got to use tongs to add ice, and their choice of lime, lemon and orange, then a squirt of red fruit drink from a squeeze bottle.   Shown with these boys is my wonderful intern, Marie.  She is amazing.  And, she is beautiful, though this photo does not do her justice.

Here is my Iraqi friend, Ban.  She helps with so many things, including assisting with the activity morning.  (She led the children in making a little "kit" they could set up at home with a cardstock manger, straw, and a tiny, plastic baby.)  Ban is a catechist, and she tutors my kids in math.

So there we are.  I have a bit of a life after my stint as "trauma mama".  I know this isn't a very interesting post, but it rounds out the picture a little bit.

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RAISING ABEL (Review)

I spent a few days last week in good company.  Another trauma-mama had all my attention; I was reading the book I mentioned in a previous post, Raising Abel, by Carolyn Nash.

Raising Abel covers the seventeen years between Carolyn's adoption of the three-year-old Abel, and his turning twenty-one......years of sweetness, violence, personal growth, and heartache.  Carolyn. Nash, single and 37 when she adopted Abel from foster care, clearly had the nurturing heart of a mother.  From the beginning, she was cut from good trauma-mama cloth, woven with patience, forgiveness, empathy and lots and lots of love - not affection, but true, committed, sacrificial love.  From the beginning Abel tested her mettle, with tantrums born of PTSD, and behavioral issues stemming from early trauma and lack of nurture.  The revelations of almost every kind of abuse make one marvel at the resilience of children and wonder that the residual effects weren't even worse.

The terrifying part of the book for me personally, was seeing how a little boy who was doing well, and even, seeming to master the difficult behaviors of his early childhood, was completely derailed by the inner shift wrought by puberty.  A boy who clearly loved his adoptive mother, and who had obviously bonded with her, turned into a strong young man who could terrorize and even harm her in fits of PTSD, the triggers for which were now less easy to discern.  I lost sleep over descriptions of Abel as a teen, enraged and out of control, chasing his mother through the night-time fields on their remote country property, and Abel, a body-builder, smashing all the windows of their truck, and the walls and the furniture, and everything he could see in their home.  And tears flooded my eyes, as he sobbed in sorrow and shame over what he had done, and his terrified mother struggled to make life-altering decisions in response.

Surprising in a book of this sort, the  reader is carried along on waves of suspense. For far too long, Carolyn loves and cares for this vulnerable little guy, while they both are tormented by visits and possible permanent return to his abusive mother. All the while Abel, only three, begins, bit by bit, to reveal the monstrous and unbelievable actions of adults who were supposed to love and protect him.  Anyone with experience of the fractured, and so often error-ridden social service system won't be able to breathe quite normally for much of the  book...and then, there are the disturbing and cloudy areas in Carolyn's own childhood, which prompted by Abel's revelations, and aided by a wonderful therapist, begin to reveal troubling mysteries from Carolyn's own past.  Yes, for many reasons it is a page-turner, but probably the aspect of the book that causes the mother of a traumatized child to turn the pages with a mix of anticipation and apprehension  is the question  - will he - will they - be healed?

One of the most interesting aspects of this book for me was watching this story play out, as Carolyn adopts and raises Abel in the years just before many of the recent discoveries in brain research and neuroscience that have led people like Dan Hughes, Bruce Perry, Heather Forbes, Karyn Purvis and others to develop specific strategies for parenting children with early trauma.  The first (and every subsequent) time Carolyn gives Abel a "time-out" it is all I could do not to cry out, "No! Time IN!!!"  While I rejoiced in the therapeutic relationship with the gifted Amanda that led to so much growth on Carolyn's part, I chafed at the lack of information she received about how Abel was progressing with his counselor, and found myself aching for diadic therapy or Theraplay.

And, perhaps that is another of the suspenseful aspects of this story- will Carolyn's instincts - which are generally so right - win out over what was then (and is too often now) the conventional wisdom?  Will her love be enough?  As Abel's behavior becomes more severe she allows herself to (or perhaps it is better to say, she is forced to) turn to programs that focus on behavior rather than trauma resolution - and, sure enough - Abel goes through a behaviorally-based  residential treatment program, which  has the expected [by me] result - a short-term change followed by a resurfacing of the behaviors generated by the deep hurts and shame that a program like that will never touch (and will, in fact, make worse by adding the shame of failure).  And Abel's mother, in desperation,  also turns to hospitals and pharmaceutical interventions, only to find what an inexact science it is, sometimes making things worse rather than better.

Raising Abel is a beautifully written book, and not a difficult read.  It focuses on the story, and does not pretend to educate or preach.  While a parallel is drawn between Abel and the physically disabled sister of his best friend, that image is not necessary to get the point across - a child like Abel, no matter what his behavior looks like - deserves understanding and compassion.  Any parent, any educator, will be drawn to make ones own conclusions but most assuredly, will grow in understanding and compassion in the process.

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THE HARDEST POST TO WRITE

Last week the foundation of my world shifted beneath me.  I learned that Dana Marra the extraordinary, precious woman who gave me my children – had died   Few people have ever had a greater impact on my life.  She gave me my precious Russians. 

Dana had an amazing life – God selected her to work miracles here on earth.  Day by day she worked hand in hand with Him.  Whenever I thought of her and what she meant to me, the words that flew into my mind most readily were "handmaid of the Lord".  It hardly seemed right to use this phrase, uttered by Mary (Luke 1:38), about anyone else.  And yet, even on further thought, that seems to me to be the role Dana played - in my life, and in so many others.

I remember vividly the first time I talked to Dana.  I'd heard that some parents of a friend of Lydia's had adopted two Russian children.  With all my love for Russia, and with my previous thoughts about adoption, I'd never heard such a thing was possible.  The only international adoption I'd heard about was China.  And, we'd looked into that and realized that never in this lifetime was it anything we could afford.  And now - we were surely too old.  But, when I met Lydia's friend's parents - they were clearly older than Craig and I, and they were clearly not all that well off; yet there they stood with their two little Russian children.  So, on a whim, I contacted the first agency I had any knowledge of (vaguely, through someone at church) and I requested a packet of information about Russian adoption.  Before the packet arrived - within only a day or two - I picked up the phone, and on the other end was Dana.  Dana had a little Russian boy for me - when could I take delivery? 

Coincidentally, right at the time I wrote to her, (are there coincidences?) Dana had a group of children in Michigan on a hosting program.  The family who was hosting Sergei had decided not to adopt, and Dana was looking for a family for him.  My heart stopped, I think, and I was filled with horror.  I have never back-pedaled so fast!!!  I was overwhelmed with panic!  What had I done?  I'd just been messing about with the idea!  It was not even a pipe-dream!  I'd just been day-dreaming when I asked for that packet - not serious!!!   

This was one of the few times Dana had to use her persuasive powers with me!  Persuade she did......in that, and in a few subsequent conversations over the next few days.  Little did I know that she was using those powers with a few other families, as well.  Now it makes me shudder with horror to imagine how close we came to losing our Sergei.  But, advocate for children that she was, Dana was going to leave no stone unturned in order to find that boy a home.  Dana also saw a deeper truth in all of it - she often said, "God gives you the children you are supposed to have."  Sergei was ours from the beginning of time.  But it was Dana's mission to deliver him.

Long story short, she cajoled me.....and praise God she did!   

But, the expense - how could we afford adoption?  We could afford adoption because Dana took almost nothing for her work with older children.  This is where her heart was and if she saw a chance to get a child a good home, she was not going to allow money to stand in the way.  All we paid was a few thousand dollars over the actual cost of travel and what we paid the people in Russia - and, Dana didn't work with the very expensive and very unhelpful Russian staff that many other adoptive parents complained about - the staff Dana had put together in Russia was amazing!  To begin with, they were people we could trust and come to love, but they were foremost, caring people who did not see adoption as a path to undue riches.  So, while other families, adopting from the same orphanages, paid over $40,000 to bring their children home, we paid just a bit over the cost of the tax refund.

And Dana was careful and knowledgeable.  She took her responsibilities with each family very seriously. And she was good at what she did, scrupulous about detail.  While families I knew, who went through other agencies, waited months and months, even years longer than we did, often finding it was due to errors and shoddy paperwork, we never had a glitch - not once in four adoptions, was there anything our agency did that caused a problem or a delay.   Dana was absolutely trustworthy, and so respectful and wise in her dealings with the people in Russia.

With Sergei, at his hosting family, was another little boy, Valeri.  He was a couple of years older, and there was no way we were going for two!  But, he weighed on my mind, and more so, Dana’s.  She cajoled me to “ask around”.  I did better than that (well, let’s say I was “prompted”).  Standing in the sacristy before Mass, I suddenly had the idea to have father make a plea for a family for this boy.  I have to tell you, in a large Catholic Church such an individual and personal thing is rarely, if ever done – but the Spirit that prompted me, also prompted our pastor – and the family at Mass that morning who called me, interested in adopting Valeri.  So, in that way, for the first time, I joined in this grand work Dana was doing.  It was the first of many times.  Dear, dear Dana was generous in her willingness to allow me, and others, to share in this wondrously loving work she did.  And, somehow in that sharing, I developed a bond of love with her that was different and deeper than with any ordinary friend.  

I cannot believe that I can never again tell her what she is to me!   Not that I never told her!  I tried to express it again and again - but in person, certainly, words failed.   I am pretty sure I expressed it in writing.  I think she knew on one level, but can't imagine how she could ever really understand how much she meant to me......

Dana Marra was my miracle.  But for Dana I would not have my family.  No Sergei, Zhenya, Nastya, Ilya - no Maxim.   Who would I love?  What would I do with my days?  What would I have done with myself?  How could have lived without this mission to love, that comes so clearly from God....but handed to me by Dana. 

God rest her soul, and dear Lord, thank you, THANK YOU for her!

Dana with Nastya and three other Russian girls whose lives she changed.

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MELT-DOWN!

Yesterday Ilya celebrated his seventeenth birthday....though both he and we feel like he is fifteen.  In any case, we splurged and got him a TV for his room so he can play xbox.  I am not a "TV-in-the-room" kind of person, but Ilya never asks for anything.  Never.  In all his years with us, this is the only thing he has ever said he really wanted.  He never complains, never begs, never even requests certain foods over others (with the one exception that he detests pizza - it makes him gag and he can't eat it).  He wouldn't even specify a special birthday dinner.  So, obviously, he had to get his TV. 

We had a plain old stir-fry for dinner, but I purchased (time not being sufficient to make) a very nice cake. 

Just as Ilya was putting plates on the table for the cake, and making a little joke (which he so rarely, does - evident of his happy mood) of putting the entire cake on his plate.....I hear glass breaking in the kitchen, a glass falling into the sink.  Innocently stupid me; I hadn't even noticed that the presentation of this cake was pulling a trigger.  Sergei said, "That doesn't sound good."   And it wasn't good. It wasn't an accident.  It was the beginning of a couple of hours of really, really bad energy.

The first thing that I noticed, after obliviously attributing the shattered glass sound to an accident, was Anastasia going into the living room and  pouring a Diet Coke on the carpet.  Then she began to grab the various things in the room, pillows, books, etc.,  and throw them all over.  Of course I left the table and went in there and did all I could do to defuse the bomb.

I'm not particularly astute or bright.   I could tell this was birthday-related, and figured it was also probably a delayed reaction to reading all her paperwork from Russia.  This is something she decided in therapy that she had to do, and her therapist agreed that Anastasia had the right to know everything there was to know.  [By the grace of God her paperwork was not as bad as it might have been....lots of repetition, refrains almost - "mother known to be of bad reputation"  "public drunkenness" "immoral lifestyle"  "left without foodstuffs, or furniture"  "not taken to the doctor to get inoculations or check ups" "not sent to kindergarten or given any education"  "left to beg".   After reading it she commented to me about her mother not "visiting or showing any interest in" her baby brother, but apart from that there wasn't much that Anastasia didn't already know and actually remember.  However, I should have known there was a time bomb there.

She didn't know what to say, I guess.  So, she had to show me what she felt.  She grabbed the papers out of her notebook and tore them up and threw them around the living room.  I made a few miss-steps because I recall at one point her threatening me if I said "anything bad about my mother!"  But, later she expressed her anger that Ilya was cared for, Ilya was fed, but she wasn't, and got angry at me for suggesting that her mother did the best she could..... [no winning in this game] 

At one point, she ran through the house grabbing photos of herself and  tearing them up.  Then she ran to the desk where a big envelope of all the kids photos are kept, and she did tear up one of Lydia; somehow I got them and hid them while she was doing that.   She grabbed my arms and held me (I really didn't try to get away....just to look into her eyes and listen).  Eventually (after at least an hour of hard work on my part coping with her anger and violence) she burst into tears and expressed her anger and grief. 

Of course, feeling that Ilya was more fortunate than she was to begin with, taken to live with grandma and fed, seeing him presented with a birthday cake was way.too.much.   It was interesting that for the first time her threats of retribution went past the poor souls who adopted her, to include going to Russia to find her family and make all their lives a "living hell".  (About this time, I was envisioning buying her the ticket, frankly.)

One great difficulty that hangs over our child-management  is that husband is a behaviorist and we never agree on how to handle Anastasia in these fits.  Because his methods haven't worked, and mine often seem to (albeit delayed), he pretty much leaves me to it.  But, if he had his way, would deal with the behavior (regardless of origin) and would put her in "time out" [like we have a padded room to hold her???].  This is what he says, anyway.  He would give her punishments for this kind of behavior. I can't imagine what punishments we could give her, honestly.  All she does for any sort of escape is watch TV.  She is in bad shape at the moment, with no social life.  She shows little interest in eating.  But my husband has some idea that she "enjoys" this stuff (I think she is in hell during it, myself).  In any case, he wants her to PAY. 

To be fair,  in most of my reading - even Karyn Purvis, there is some expectation that after the meltdown is over, the child will be expected to do some sort of reparation.  While this seems reasonable, I have not had any luck with it.  The next day can come; she can be more or less regulated again, but the moment I begin to touch on what occurred,  I can see that she is filled with shame for what she did, and the shame threatens to throw her back where she was and launch a repeat.....  She seems more able to re-visit the ugly place than do any sort of "re-do" or "reparation".

Am I doing something wrong, or is she too far gone?  Or is my husband right?  As regards this, I'm at a loss.

What I usually do is try and help her get through the fit via acceptance and curiosity, then the boil breaks, so to speak; she crumples in tears and grief and neediness and reveals the heart of the pain she is feeling.  She is vulnerable; I try and give her comfort and a feeling of safety.  That is the end. 

Seems to me on some level, like she's suffered herself going through all that anger to the place of honesty and vulnerability. The process was its own punishment.  I just can't really see why other "punishment" is necessary.....though reparation seems like a "nice" idea.  I just can't see it happening, as it would require going back to that feeling of seeing herself as a nasty, bad, destructive person, from a place of more relative peace. 

Also I forgive easily, and my forgiveness involves forgetting.  Real forgetting.  Maybe I don't want to "go back there" any more than she does....because I always feel as though she has moved forward, fought a demon, and is in a new place. 

By the way, if you want to feel sorry for me.....when it was all over and, shaking and worn, I shuffled into the kitchen to get a piece of cake.....due to miscalculation, it..... was.... all.... gone.  

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NEWS FLASH FOR KINDLE OWNERS!

I've been reading a very powerful "trauma mama" book - Raising Abel by Carolyn Nash.  It is a gut-wrenching story of a horrifically abused three year old, but at the same time, an inspirational story of the healing love of his therapeutic-foster-mama.  (Hopefully his adoptive mama, but I haven't gotten that far yet.)   One would hardly expect this sort of book to also be full of suspense, but it is, which is one reason I couldn't put it down last night.  As his foster mama wins his love and begins his path of healing, there is still the looming and awful possibility of reunification with his abusive mother....and while working with Abel, his foter mom begins to get glimmers of nightmarish things hidden in her own past, which may give meaning to the way her life has come together. 

Just to say, it is a great read  - and I was even quoting it to my husband this morning, as justificaion for the way I handled things last night.  Ms. Nash's trials were surprising salve to the wounds I was feeling after having undergone one heck of an Ilya's-birthday-induced melt-down after dinner last night.   Every aspect of her interactions with Abel are just so true to the kinds of things those of us who parent children of trauma experience.  I think I'll want to do a "real" review when I finish it, but I just noticed that today only, Raising Abel is FREE for download on Kindle! 

Go for it!

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THE WISDOM OF ANASTASIA'S GODFATHER

Anastasia's godfather is one of my favorite priests, Fr.Karl Pung.  In our beautful Diocesan magazing FAITH, he was asked to give his "last" homily.  I have to say, that it overwhelmed me.  It could be a message straight to the heart of his bruised little goddaughter.  I like it so much I'm sharing it here.

Allow the image of the resurrected Christ to guide your healing and sanctification.


In this earthly existence, our being hurt and wounded at some point is a given. No one can escape the various emotional, physical, psychological, and spiritual wounds that are inflicted upon us as we walk through our lives. Each of these wounds change who we are. Every wound disrupts the right ordering
of our mind, body and soul; it disrupts our relationships with God, neighbor, self and creation.  In short, each wound leaves its own mark.


The real question that confronts us is how to deal with these wounds. One temptation is to try and handle these wounds on our own. We may try to acknowledge then deny our hurts, wish them away, or to try and numb them with one vice or another. None of these will bring us true healing. These are various ways to cope, some better than others, but they do not heal the soul, mind or body.


For Christians, being healed is first about acceptance and is then about transformation.  Healing is not about returning to what we once were, or forgetting that something happened.  Healing for a Christian is about allowing Christ to transform every aspect of our being into something that no longer causes us pain; something that is loved, gives God glory, and still allows every action or memory to remain a part of who we are. The image that comes to us from Scripture is Jesus’ carrying his own wounds in his resurrected body.


After Jesus’ resurrection, he still has the marks of his crucifixion, but they are transformed. When people look upon his wounds and touch them, these wounds do not cause Jesus pain, but give God glory. That is what we want for ourselves. To be transformed in such a way that all of our hurts no longer hurt, but give God glory. This transformation occurs first by accepting our wounds and pains, and then by inviting
Jesus into them and allowing him to love them and to transform them. Each of our wounds will be with us for eternity, but there will be a day when they too will give glory to God instead of causing us pain.


Let us pray to know the love that Jesus knew that allowed him to trust himself and his wounds into the hands of the Father. Together, let us give God glory and be transformed.

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SICK FOR A WEEK - AND, IT'S NOT ABOUT MC DONALDS

Yes; weekend before last I began to cough a bit, then Monday night I was really feeling pretty puny.  That was about the last of me for a week.  Tuesday and Wednesday I did nothing but cough and sleep.  Same on Thursday.  We'd generously been given a pre-cooked Thanksgiving meal, but I was so sick, and Sergei was also so sick, that no one ate Thanksgiving dinner.  On Wednesday Sergei had developed a rash - all over his body and so bad that his face and lips were swollen.  He also felt terrible with chills and fever.

On Friday, Craig put both of us in the car and took us to Redi-Care.  I clearly had bronchitis.  They'd little clue what was wrong with Sergei, but gave us both prescriptions and sent us home.  I hoped for quick relief and didn't get it.  Now - four days later, I feel a bit better.  The coughing isn't much relieved, but at least I don't ache all over, and I can think.  I'm weak....but not so much as I was.  Happily Sergei is also recovered from the mystery disease.

It was fortunate that I was sick over a vacation, as there was no panic and anxiety over work.  Craig was here to take care of the kids, though I think that meant McDonalds nearly every day, to my horror.

Even downplayed, Thanksgiving was a big trigger for Anastasia.  I got in about ten intense minutes with her a day.  One day it was her bouncing on the bed above me and telling me she hoped I'd die.  I didn't care; it was all like a dream to me at the time.  Mama being sick is a trigger, too.  Someone else getting attention; her not getting it from mama. 

Saturday I said, "I think Thanksgiving is a hard time for you."  Her response in her most sarcastic tone - "Ya think?   I'm supposed to be thankful?!  For WHAT!  I didn't want to be adopted!  I want my real family!"  Oh, yes - I was sitting downstairs watching TV with her.  The non-stop "happy-family" commericals and imagery must be a hideous abrasive for so many people.

Sunday night I was feeling enough better to cope with a particularly intense exchange.  I was actually well enough to insist that Craig go to the store and get something else [other than McDonalds] for dinner (despite the fact that perversely, I really craved the half of a fish sandwich that I'd had for a couple of nights straight).  He took "orders" for various sorts of ramen, etc.  Anastasia ignored it all.  He left; he returned; boys ate.  She said, "I want something to eat.  I want McDonalds."   I explained, reasonably, that we weren't having McDonalds again.  Things accellerated.  She was not happy.  "You don't feed me!  I want food!  I want McDonalds!"   This build-up took longer than I can really describe in quotations, because I was  [stupidly] responding with logic and reason to the things she said....or only scratching a tiny bit below the surface, with the ever-futile "Why are you acting like this!?"  Once she threw a book across the room.  Once she stood over me menacingly.  Once she demanded the scissors (which I had hidden), and finding them, began a little foray into cutting (which I pretty much ignored).  Maybe because it was getting physical and maybe because I realized I didn't have enough energy to expend, I finally made a solid leap into therapeutic parenting the last time she yelled, "I want McDonald's", I yelled back (or at least responded with similar intensity), "You know you can't have McDonalds!  But I don't think that's it!  What else is it that you want but can't have!?!"  She didn't miss a beat, but continued as if this had been the subject all the time, "I want my real parents!  I don't want to be adopted!  I was a quiet little girl in Russia!  I was nice!  Why did you adopt me!" and the real conversation began..... (followed, an hour or so later, by Anastasia, without ado, getting up and making herself a little meal from food in the kitchen).

I heard her, and let her know that I understand how painful it must be for her.  Same conversation we have almost daily, slightly different words, another little coloration, maybe a bit more understanding of some little piece of it.  Poor little dear. 

But, it had me thinking.  As I often do.  Sometimes I wonder that more parents don't kill and injure their children.   The uninitiated parent.  The adoptive parent expecting a thankful child, or at the very least, an obedient and respectful child.  A step-parent coming into a situation with a hurt and damaged child......  A foster parent thinking "This kid should be grateful!"  It is so darned easy to look at the surface. I think therapeutic parenting all.the.time!  I am not unintelligent; I have imagiation. Yet, Sunday night, even I initially saw:  a little brat who wants McDonalds, and when told she can't have it, becomes a defiant, violent little jerk.

Anastasia didn't know it wasn't about McDonald's either.  She was just expressing a huge, deep feeling that slid into the most "convenent" package  to deliver itself.  If you think it is about McDonalds, of course you will scoff and scorn and get angry and punish.  Having her deepest feelings rejected (without really understanding that this was what she was expressing) she will be crazed when further shame is heaped on the searing pain she is already trying to unburden.  Of course it is an emotional beating ready to happen - if not a physical one.  It is hard to hear communication expressed in code.  Especially in the bustle of homelife [especially when you are sick], it is hard to stop and realize - It is not about McDonalds. 

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LIGHT

We're driving to the store, and Anastasia says "My jaw isn't hurting."  As I've mentioned before she has an OCD issue with "tracing" things she sees with her teeth....sort of grinding her teeth together in the various outlines.  Obviously, this means she is clinching her jaw all the time and for a couple of years (while I chased a psychiatrist) she complained of pain.  That was the first little glimmer....I realized, the meds are kicking in!

And, sure enough, she went to the mall, and when I picked her up, and watched her walk toward the car, I noticed that her posture was different....willowy, not stiff.  And, then, she wanted to show me something in the back yard - and she grabbed my hand.  The only physical contact we've had in the past five months has been me hugging a cold, stone statue, or her aggressively bumping me "by accident".  Here was her soft hand, grasping mine. What a hope-filled feeling!

She began to make eye-contact.  She no longer said, "Go die" when  passing me.  Best of all, she got up one day and said, "Where's my math book?" and since then, has been assiduously studying Algebra. 

It was truely like watching a girl made of ice, melt.....and a real girl appear.  And with the "real" girl, there are feelings running through those veins.  Instead of those angry, snide and snarky comments, there are sincere and painful questions:  "I don't understand why everyone leaves me."  One afternoon she called me on the phone, crying, "I miss him.  I miss my real daddy."  She has begun to dwell on her father, who did show her some true love (one piece of which was allowing her to be adopted, as he told me himself.)  But, that is a hard bit for her to understand. 

And, we have a therapist.  Miss Julie is wonderful, and began therapy with Anastasia's "Life Story".  I am learning a lot I didn't know, despite all her previous sharing and my previous questions.  Until the medical expense account kicks in, in January, we can only afford [barely] an every-other-week visit, but I hope for some real progress soon.

Huge, huge mountains to climb.  But, at least we're not still part of the glacier.

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THANKS FOR THE HELP [NOT]

Now, with a daughter who is very triggered by any display of sexuality - aren't I lucky to have had this billboard posted on our primary route to all the places we go?  (Right as we get on the freeway.)  And, if you can believe it - there is a similar one - except this time for a place called the "Wild Beaver Saloon" a block from our house on our route home!  Come on people!  And, as I expected the moment I laid eyes on this one - the first time Anastasia saw it she commented very matter of factly, "I could work there."  And I did my best at  "A" for "accepting" and commented back, "Well, I think you could find a job that paid more and had better benefits since you're so good at math."  To my relief, that was the end of the conversation.  Though I very much fear she tucked this convenient job opportunity away in the back of her mind.

And, then there is television.   I saw the very pretty ads for the new Sunday night program "Once Upon A Time".  I envisioned some lovely, high-production-value effort, geared to families, with the story and adventure for children and possibly some good acting and depth for adults.    Was I ever disappointed!

If there had been a committee of evil  men gathered in a smokey room imagining how best to trouble and disturb adopted children, they could not have done better.  Adoption was a major theme of the piece....with a decidedly anti-adoption point of view.  I was sitting open-mouthed.  At one point the lovely heroine [teacher] says of a boy "He wants what all adopted children want."  That is, of course - their "real" mother.  Yes, indeedy - and if we might not understand that concept, it is clarified by making his adoptive mother a cold, hard person - and in the modern day/fairy tale parallel.....the adoptive mother is the wicked witch.  I could hardly bear to sit there, frankly.  But, I thought that the best hope was to possibly get some conversation out of it at some point.  (We haven't yet.)   

I'll also add that in every other way this trauma-pill disappointed - the production values were not as good as I'd hoped.  The script, apart from its questionable ideas and complete lack of depth, also lacked any sort of sparkle and the acting was dreadful.....somehow fairy tale people with flat American diction are just jarring (I don't expect an accent, mind you - simply classic American stage speech)

A palate cleanser was needed, I thought, so we watched the program that I can always count on to be quality - Masterpiece Theatre.   And, the program was well-acted, beautifully filmed, with a splendid script.....all about Russian whores.  Yes, indeed.  Can you believe my luck?  Russian whores....a fact well noted by Anastasia, who seemed to feel not so alone.  And that is painfully true.  These girls were whores, but good Russian girls on some level. Oh, boy.  At least they kept getting murdered, so I hope that was off-putting.

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BAD MOMMY

Sorry for this delinquent post.  But, better late than never?

I got the "bad mommy" award this Halloween.  Let's start with the fact that one of my busiest months at work is October, then add to that psyciatrists/therapists/a broken-down vehicle and a routine that thus requires me to drive about an hour and a half for both pick up and drop-off routines.....well, there you have it - not enough time to make cute, homemade costumes.  So, Sunday night, the 30th, after a fourteen-hour work day, and a dinner I somehow don't remember (bet it was on the order of a can of mushroom soup mixed with a can of tuna), I hobbled out to the car with Zhen to go "get" his costume.  For some reason his glee in picking a new costume each year is so intense, that I just couldn't do the reasonable thing and direct him to the costume boxes in the basement.  For one thing, he actually plays with those costumes all year, on and off, so I can see how they don't have the excitement that a "Halloween Costume" should have.

At Meijers - "yahoo!" I thought - all Halloween stuff was 50% off.  But, as it turned out there was nothing there.  Really - nothing.

On we went to Target.  The Halloween stuff was in the far back corner.  As we are hitting the point where we could just see it in the distance, over the intercom I hear "The store will be closing in five minutes."  

I gave Zhen a little push ' "Run!"   And, I'll say this - Zhen is a power shopper.  He picked these items [no 50% off, unfortunately] within the five minutes and we scurried up to the check-out in the nick of time. 

And, I didn't even have to mention expense.  I was delighted that Zhen seemed to be shopping to a budget. 

The big boys, not wanting to appear to "care" (boy,its hard to be a teenager) did grab old costume bits and the three of them went out with a neighbor boy trick-or-treating in our own neighborhood. 

Tradition has long been for us to go to one of my friends' houses and, after a pizza dinner, for she and I to walk the kids around her (more extensively savory) neighborhood.  Too bad for me.   I guess we've come to the point in Halloween where the parents are no longer necessary.  Oh - not so fast.  I was necessary!  I needed to drive Anastasia to a bonfire party in Okemos - the furthest city that could be considered not actually out in the country.   After that I went alone to my friend's house.  Her daughter, meanwhile, a diligent high school student (very unlike my own) was not trick-or-treating, or even handing out treats.....but working on a paper.  So, Marianne and I did our usual thing, and went to some other friends' house for coffee, pumpkin bread and apples, and conversation......before I had to drive all the way back to Okemos to pick up Anastasia. 

What I saved on the costume, I think, I expended in gas money.  But, I graduated sort-of painlessly to the next level of being a Halloween parent.  (Does make me consider foster care,though - life is just so much more fun with little kids.)

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OUR KITCHEN

Just a little anecdote I don't want to forget. 

Zhen and I were watching Iron Chef, and there was a commercial referring to your kitchen being the best place in your house.  Our kitchen is terrible.  Terrible.  So I asked Zhen, "What is the best room in our house?"  He said, "The living room - or Sergei's room."  (Sergei's room is a perfect boy-cave.)  

I said, "Yes; our kitchen is not a very nice room."  And after a moment, he said sort of wistfully, "A lot of amazing things come out of there, though."

I'm not that good a cook - or I should say dedicated a cook - so I was really touched.

Later in the evening he said, "You'll have to give my wife your sloppy joe recipe.  Or, maybe you could just keep making them for me forever."   

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To Mother You

I honestly cannot imagine how I never heard this song.  It is the lullaby for the older adopted child.   Don't watch the video, but play the music (below) and read the lyrics.  


This is to mother you
To comfort you and get you through
Through when your nights are lonely
Through when your dreams are only blue
This is to mother you

This is to be with you
To hold you and to kiss you too
For when you need me I will do
What your own mother didn't do
Which is to mother you

All the pain that you have known
All the violence in your soul
All the 'wrong' things you have done
I will take from you when I come
All mistakes made in distress
All your unhappiness
I will take away with my kiss, yes
I will give you tenderness

For child I am so glad I've found you
Although my arms have always been around you
Sweet bird although you did not see me
I saw you

And I'm here to mother you
To comfort you and get you through
Through when your nights are lonely
Through when your dreams are only blue
This is to mother you

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AN INTERESTING MEAL

Earlier this week I made a meatloaf.  I have been trying to plan ahead and make simple, healthy meals.  For some reason I hadn't made a meat loaf since Ilya has been with us.

Whether it was the beans from the night before, or some other reason, both Ilya and I had some indigestion issues.  He confided in me his concerns about my cooking:  "Mom, I don't think you should cook that wolf any more."

Apparently "meatloaf" and "meat - wolf" sound similar.

I think people need to take any  comments about my cooking with a grain of salt!  No bush meat here, no matter what the kids tell you!

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TRAUMA MAMA

Trauma Mama. 

At first this nomenclature struck me as odd.  But I understand it now. 

Why would you identify yourself with this most difficult part of your life? 

Because you want to find others like yourself.....people who will understand, not judge, know the "lingo".  (Funny that most of you - certainly you beloved friends who commented so supportively on my last post - could identify "Dan Hughes" or "Heather Forbes" or "Nancy Thomas" - while the psychiatrist looked at me blankly.)  We are specialists, with our area of expertise, and we can and need to communicate with one another about issues that no one around us can understand.  Especially because it is those issues that seem to sometimes cut us off from others.

But, why would you be flip about something that threatens not only the soul and future of a person you love, but everyone in your family, the family unit itself, your financial stability, your relationships, your worklife, even your marriage and your sanity?  Because laughter and lightness is what keeps you going, that's why!  If I couldn't distance myself enough to see the funny side of all of this, to be a tiny bit disrespectful of it all -  I might go crazy. In truth.  Or do something rash.

I'm with Heather Forbes, "Love Never Fails" - but I think it needs the able assistance of humor.  Here's a thesis or dissertation topic for someone --  "Correlation Between Parental Sense of Humor on the Rate of Adoption Disruption Among Attachment Disordered Children".

But, along with humor I think you have to have a circle of people who understand.  Thank heaven, thank heaven for you. 

A little update:

As things have gotten worse and worse with Miss A. I got more and more determined to get some improvement going.  It finally came to my attention that Anastasia will not talk to men.  Hence the failures with Billy Kaplan, brilliant Chicago therapist, and Kurt Ellis, gifted attachment therapist in Grand Rapids.  Both were amazing, and both helped me, but she wouldn't give them the time of day.  So Kurt suggested the Attachment Coalition in Livonia.  All women.  Wonders have not ceased since I called them.  The one who specializes in teens just got a couple of openings.  Craig and I go see her tomorrow.  And she agreed that it sounded as though Anastasia needed some medication and she recommended a female psychiatrist.  Remember the months I waited before being able to see the last psychiatrist?  Well, this one had a cancellation today.  It took some physical restraints and intercession of the Saints, but we did get her in the car and to this woman, and though she promised she wouldn't talk, she did talk. 

We have a diagnosis - PTSD - and we have meds, the prescription being filled at the pharmacy even as I write this.  So, I am feeling optimistic. 

Granted, the finances have taken quite a hit, since our stellar insurance plan does not cover mental health, but barely (only a psychiatrist and then only 50%).  But, it's worth it!  I've already tried the dried bean approach to meal planning.  It is not going all that well, in fact even I am having some gastrointestinal issues, but I am sure we'll get used to it.  And the entire family will benefit from improvement in its most troubled member.  As Anastasia herself put it so aptly, "If I'm not happy, nobody's happy."  Too true.

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IN THE MUCK

You never stand so tall as when you stoop to help a child.

So why do I feel as though I have been groveling in the mud?

A couple of weeks ago I experienced a humiliation so rich and deep that it's taken me this long to show my head.

Why not write about other stuff?  Why not just never mention it?

One can control pretty well what you reveal on a blog.  But that doesn't work for me, because this blog is all about being honest, and sharing things that I might not be able to share with people I know from church or whatever. I admit, there are huge bits I've failed to tell you - but only for lack of time.  Not to hide anything.  Not anything that is reflective of who I am, who I appear to others, what matters to me.


That little quote at the top is part of the "signature" on our Russian teacher's e-mail - well, hers and her husband's.  A couple of weeks ago I got an e-mail from them, for all intents and purposes telling me that my family was not welcome at the fundraiser they were giving for a family in their church.

This family is going to adopt Oleg.   I am so, so happy for him and them.  I'm glad to have sewn a stitch or two in that beautiful tapestry.  But, whenever I think of it, I expect I'll always feel a sinking shame due to this subsequent event.  Perhaps it is good for me to experience shame, as Anastasia feels so much of it.



So, what precipitated this? At the last "Russian Culture" event, Yolka (the Christmas party) all the boys planned to come.  But Sergei was bringing his girlfriend as well, and though Rebecca got as far as our house, she got ill at the last minute and Sergei had to stay with her.  Ilya and Zhenya came, but in the end, without Sergei there to give him strength, Ilya couldn't bring himself to enter the hall.  Zhen was too shy (and loyal) to come in without Ilya.....so they sat in the vestibule.  I kept going out to encourage them, but whenever I went out there, Ilya just sat there and wouldn't budge.  Obviously it looked anti-social and defiant. But it isn't. Ilya has such a desire to go places,but sometimes a fear just freezes him at the last minute.  He is almost agoraphobic.  I did everything I could to get them to come in and eat, at least.  But the room full of people was too much for him.  Nothing could move Ilya, and Zhen was not coming in alone.  If I hadn't brought Anastasia, with her friend, I would have just put them all in the car and left.  But I was stuck.

I didn't realize this, but at some point Ilya must have smoked. I cannot really believe he smoked in the building, but perhaps outside....and there was probably no facility for it.  The Russian teacher's husband suggested that he smoked all night and made a big mess. But I have a hard time believing that because every time I stepped out to check on them (frequently) - there he sat.  Among all those Russian men, I wouldn't be surprised if a few went out to smoke.  Apparently, there was some mess somewhere - and Ilya may have made at least part it.  Or, even all of it. 

Result: they did not want my "boys" at last night's event. Moreover - they "didn't need" anyone to see Anastasia being rude to adults.

They weren't referring to any behavior of hers at the Yolka, where she was very appropriate but they did see her behave badly at the park when we had Russian School picnics this summer. I won't deny it.  In fact, I  described it here.  And, looking back at that post, I can see that no one responded much, so perhaps that is because all of you recoiled in horror at her behavior as well.

I understand completely why these people don't want my children at their fundraiser. I do. They want only appealing, well-behaved and talented Russian children. Of course!  And maybe that is why I feel so absolutely low about it all. 

My beloved children and are I socially unacceptable.
I am pretty sure they blame me, or the directive would have been delivered with a little bit of sorrow and compassion.

I cannot begin to tell you how humiliating and painful it is.  And, I feel so, so sorry for Zhenya and Sergei who are the loveliest people, the most well-behaved children, and are yet tarred with the same brush. 

If I could feel "wronged" it would be different.  But, I can't.  They weren't wronging me. They called it as they see it. If I didn't know the truth of the situation - I'd agree with them!  If all I had to go on was appearance,  I'd think that Mrs. Kitching was a pretty poor mother and her kids would have been better off in Russia!


You don't necessarily stand tall when you stoop to help a child.  You sometimes get dragged right down into the dirt, if the child's problems are stronger than your ability to help them.

Oh, I am still hopeful.  New counselor, new plan and all.

But for now I feel sad - both because I've lost this group of in-real-life friends and maybe more because I have a new vision of how I appear to people. 

I can't fathom facing this group again, the adoptive parents with healthy children.  I'll just slink away in shame.  I felt like doing that here as well.  Somehow I guess it is only fair and honest to let you all know that the people who know me and my children in person, wish they didn't.

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SCHOOL CONFERENCES

Last night I went to conferences at Grand Ledge High School.  Was I ever impressed!  I have gone to conferences at three other high schools over the years and a couple of middle schools, and I am once again confirmed that the gas money [and time] is well spent. 

Ten teachers, two boys who are not stellar students.  Ten positive experiences.  Every single teacher I spoke with made me feel that my boys were special.  I could say, "I'm Sergei's mom," (even when I popped over to a teacher's table simply because there was an opening, not because it was my scheduled time) - never was there a flicker of non-recognition, never a look of confusion for a moment.  And, immediately, and quite naturally, each teacher would begin to tell me what they liked about my boys.  Now, I know you are thinking - they recognize the Russian name...  Maybe.  But, I can assure you that would not have been enough at East Lansing High School, or Eastern High School in Lansing.  I suppose it is not the teachers' fault so much as it just being too large a school.  I guess. 

I'll never forget the first high school conference I attended, when Aidan began at East Lansing.  I had prepared my list of questions for the teachers - Did he participate?  Did he seem comfortable with the other students?  Does it seem he has the appropriate background (remember he'd first been at Montessori, then homeschooled).  Was he mastering the material?  Did he appear to be interested and motivated?  Well, that little list was soon crumpled and tossed in the trash can.   The only way any of his teachers could begin to get an image of who he was, was to match his name to their seating chart.  One teacher continued to refer to "Adam" .  OK.  No wonder the "conference," such as it was, focused on their little print-outs of grades and assignments turned in.  It was like thinking you were going to walk into a greenhouse and instead being transported to a cold, dark basement.  And, for the four years Aidan was at East Lansing, and the one year Lydia was there, that feeling continued.  When he got older, in his junior and senior year, he was "taken up" by one of the math teachers who encouraged him to be on the lacrosse team.  So, he was no longer anonymous there.  But that was about it.  A few teachers over the years recognized him as the one who sat in the front and was so polite.  Aidan had all the hallmarks of being a first-rate student without actually being one, which confused them mightily.  They rememberd him for that A+ demeanor, and then were confused (even to the point of admitting they might have lost certain papers or assignments) when they saw some blank spots in the gradebook. 

None of that last night.  And even more impressive was the attitude that permeated the place:  we are here to do whatever it takes to make sure every child succeeds.  Every greeting, every expression said "I am glad to meet you; you and your child are important."   And there was not one teacher there who I could easily see walking out of the building complaining about having had to spend their night at conferences.  Every teacher seemed to love teaching and love their students and expect a positive, wholesome partnership with parents.  Honestly, as parents don't we always go to conferences thinking "I want to find teachers that have faith in my kids."  Well, in this case I really felt like the teachers were hoping the same thing from the parents!  It was lovely.  And it was real.  It was not printed on posters on the wall.  It was imprinted in their expressions and in everything they said.

And so honest!  I couldn't help but adore the teacher who admitted that she was kicking herself for making Ilya get up in front of the class to do a speech on Thurgood Marshall, not thinking in time that she should have offered him the chance to do it just for her.  And, her delight that he did it, and did it pretty well, was so evident.  She even related details about the classroom atmosphere as he gave it, how encouraging the other students were, how one girl hid her face because she was so embarrassed and worried for him and didn't want him to see it.  This is what I want from a conference! 

Now, mind you - this was not because my boys are stellar students.  Sergei has a big, fat F in Geometry right now.  He must, by some alchemy, have inherited the Kitching math aptitude.  But the teacher was not interested in shaming me, or being disappointed in him - only in finding ways that he might actually learn the stuff and feel good about himself.

And, this is why - I am pretty sure - Sergei said to me the other day "You know mom, I think my self-esteem is going up."  I think it is, too. 

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THE ENGLISH BOOK

I have a new career in mind.  I want to write English books for Koreans, because I have to tell you, some of the ones they have are so bad they are laughable.  When teaching the adults not a day goes by that I have to "correct" the textbook. 

Today I had to tell my student to just skip part of the lesson.  It was nonsense.  Usully I teach adults but this student is a ten year old girl. Child or not, she is smart enough to wonder about this idea:

Heavy rains kill many people.

Storms destroy our homes.

When we keep nature clean

it gives us many good things.

Huh? 

I had to have her take out a pencil and cross out part of this sentence:

We eat apples, bananas and vegetables of nature.

And lest we think such odd sentences are in an effort to clearly define the words, I'll share a definition or two from the previous page in this chapter called "Nature Force" (a typical American concept). 

made from fibers of a particular plant (I'm sure we'd all know right off - cotton!)

a piece of cloth of unique design (that is how I always think of a flag)

Anyway, I just have to share today's lesson, as it is so inspirational:

We live with many animals in this world.

Some kill elephants for ivory.

They also kill foxes for fur.

People destroy forests and make new cities there.

Many animals lose their homes.

We make a peaceful world for animals.

We are good friends with animals.

Right.  Let's discuss that, shall we!

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OVER THE YEARS, ANASTASIA

Here's my girl, from first grade until last year......

The first two years she was a bit of a tantrum-thrower, regular basis, but a fun girl most of the time.  She was vastly prettier than she appears in these photos.

Then for two years an occasional tantrum-thrower..  October (birthday) through mid-January (holidays) was hard...but she was full of sweetness, interest, loved her Russian friends, loved her dolls, loved to draw and craft.

Fifth grade, a diligent student, an affectionate, dear girl, only occasionally dysregulated.

Sixth grade, suddenly the weather changed.  She feels compelled to grow up, but she doesn't want to.  She feels desperate for a boyfriend, who she doesn't want to be with in person. She thinks about sex all the time, and hates herself for it.  She is a ball of shame inside, defiant outside. She is troubled by compulsions (to mentally trace words with her teeth, to look at herself in mirrors); she is overflowing with stress and anger, except at school.  At school things are peaceful and safe....until December...when Mrs. Allen left.  And the rest is history.

What photo would we, will we get this year? 

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WHEREIN I RATTLE ON WITH CRAZY TALK

Sergei is doing some Physical Therapy now to assist with some back pain.  One day last week, after a stressful day at work, then running out to get Zhen from school, taking him home, picking up Sergei and racing to PT (you get the idea) I found myself feeling very self-conscious.  In my little office all day, I'd been unpacking and organizing textbooks, and not seen many people.  But, now in the public eye, I realized that my clothes were a bad mix of fall and summer (should I really be wearing sandals with this skirt?) Worse yet, it was suddenly really cold and for some reason that morning I'd been unable to find anything like a heavy sweater or light jacket....and as it was absolutely time to go! I'd grabbed my dad's old quilted jacket (why was it even on the coat rack?) as I raced out the door to get kids from school. My office is quite chilly, so I had to take something. And then , worst of all was my hair - working against the clock to get the Religous Ed program up, with no time for the hairdresser, I was only too aware that a color and cut had been due at least a week previous.  Basically, I felt a complete mess, and as I so often do, was desperately hoping I wouldn't see anyone I knew.  Since I work for a big parish and have children of all ages, going out and not seeing someone I know in East Lansing, is a rarity.

At that point, a couple swept past me, chattering happily.  The man was looking down into his wife's face with warm brown eyes full of laughter; she was holding their baby - a child who looked to be about 18 months old - and she was in the midst of telling him something in a foreign language - my guess was that it was about something the child had done - there was so much affection both in his look and her voice.  This was the university Clinic, so there was no surprise at all in hearing the foreign language - but this was the first time I'd ever actually seen someone close up, in a burka.  And in every way, at that moment, my preconceived ideas about it were shattered.

First thought - I always presumed a woman would wear a burka because it was required by her cold, demanding husband who considered her his property. I even imagined a much older man, not this attractive and friendly young guy.  And, clearly this husband and wife had a close and warm relationship.

Second thought - A burka would make you feel conspicuous, at least in this country.  NO!  At that moment, actually even before I began to notice the couple's relationship - what I thought was how relieved I'd be if I could be wearing a burka!  I envied her with every fiber.  To just be there.  Not worrying about how you look, being judged "unattractive".  No guilty anxiety about not "keeping up appearances", of being found "odd looking" "inappropriate" "disheveled".  Everything in me cried out "Give me the burka!"

Third thought - in this country women are always judged by appearance.  Hair, figure, clothing, shoes, makeup.  I'm really sick of it.  Wouldn't it be interesting to be judged by what you say and do??? 

And when I saw how happy this woman was, evident by her quick and light step, and her smiling eyes - well, I envied that, too.  Her husband came with her to the doctor's office!  She didn't even have to drive!!!!!

And, what about driving?  That seems like quite a mixed blessing to me.  There was one week, when I was driving so much that my legs ached miserably and non-stop from sitting in the car with no time for even a quick walk. (Well, that week, if I wasn't in my car I was at my desk revising lesson plans.  Sometimes I'd kneel at my desk, or stand, hunched over, just to change the quality of the ache a bit.)  Those women in Saudi Arabia might have a chat with me before they agitate for this "privilege" too loudly, or like me, they'll be running themselves ragged every waking moment, a slave to their automobiles and all the possibilities they allow. 

In a conversation about the Sabbath a few weeks ago, I actually found myself arguing that housework certainly should be appropriate activity for the sabbath, if it was the thing you never got to do, and longed to do.  So, you can see where I'm at - actually longing for a Sabbath of housework, since my Sabbath (and every other day the last few weeks) is filled with churchwork and driving, and an infinite number of trips to the store.  I was at the store last night at bedtime...and I am just hearing Craig, at 6:45 a.m. say "There is no milk!"  Criminey.  There was milk left last night after dinner!  

Where is the milkman when you need him?  They have milk delivery in England!  And in Saudi Arabia the women have their day free to go to the market.  What the heck is with this country?

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A MEAL OF LEFTOVERS

I've a few photos in my camera that I took with the idea of perhaps using them in a post.  I figure I'll throw them in here and catch up a bit.

We went to Cedar Point on the last possible day before school started.  Nothing like cutting it close, but I like to use it as something to hang over their heads a motivator during the summer.  This was not the best trip.  I had told  myself previously that I wouldn't go again without a young child to go on rides with.  I wish I'd listened to myself!....or at least made Craig come.  I really do not like roller coasters.  They do nothing for me - but that is THE reason the boys go and Nastia is fine with it. 

Last year Lydia was with us, and we all went around together, and while I was mainly the pack animal, I did enjoy watching the kids go on rides and I went on two or three myself. This photo is of Zhenya and Anastasia trying to convince me that they should be allowed to go off on their own, as the big boys had already
done. I let them. But then I felt very sorry for myself. I noticed other likewise, child-less parents but they had been smart enough to come along with their spouse for the most part, or a friend. Only one or two other pathetic and lonely-looking souls were to be seen. (You can tell I spent the day people-watching.) I felt silly going on any rides alone.  I did meet up withe these two at a couple of points - first, to share an elephant ear, and second to ride the ferris wheel. 

Another year, I think I'll wander the city, or spend the day somewhere with a book.  That was one heck of a lot of money to pay for a day of people-watching and one ferris wheel ride.

I snapped this photo of Ilya sitting on the back porch (OK - back stoop) just to prove he is still alive, I guess.  He has not gotten past his hatred of having his photo taken.  I don't get that.

I see Rosie's tail.  He was probably hoping to catch Posey using the back yard for the right purposes. 

This silly photo is just to remind me of this little "thing" Craig and I do.  Rather than spend money on a movie, or go out to eat for a "date night" we go up and sit on the bed and watch a 48 Hours Mystery on my laptop.


The comforter, by the way, is not really my taste....but I brought it back from Ivanovo, and anything from Ivanovo is beautiful to me.




Lydia's godmother's daughter got married last weekend, and Lydia came on a flying visit to attend the wedding with me.  She brought her wonderful gentleman friend, Vance, as well.  Vance is a darling.  He is so nice, so good to Lydia and to all of us.   While Lydia and I were at the wedding he led the boys in a "landscaping" and "home-improvement" session - trimming hedges, and fixing the knob on the side door.  What a dear.  Then he bought the boys a new x-box game and played with them.   The night before Lydia treated all of us to dinner at Bravo. 

The wedding was in St. Joseph, MI.  We had a couple of hours between the wedding and the reception and among other things we rode this really cool carousel which was down by the beach in the same building as the reception hall. 

The timing of the wedding was not so good for me, because it was the night before the big opening of Religious Education classes.  I had to spend the entire day from 5 a.m. on at church.  Lydia took the kids to Uncle Johns, our local cider mill.  The weather was perfect for it.

Anastasia did have some struggles with this visit.  New people, emotions about family; Lydia having to leave....thus causing abandonment feelings to come to the surface...yes; it was a challenge, but Anastasia worked hard to control herself, and it wasn't the catastrophe it might have been.  It was touch and go there for a moment, though.  Lydia was really a good sister through it all.

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