Philly Moms

When I Write About My Children

I've been asked over the years, by non-bloggers mostly, if I ever worry about how much I write about my children on the internet. Or even why I do it at all. There are certainly people that would not take this road, and I understand that.

Five years ago I started my personal blog, in part, as a way to record some of the funny things my older son said and did. It quickly turned into a way for me to document the fun and not so fun parts of parenting him, a child that we were discovering had special needs.

My older son knows that I am a blogger, although I won't even pretend that at seven he really understands what that is. He knows that I write and people read what I write. He knows that some of my words are in a book. I tell him when I write about him, and I show him the pictures that I post of him. Right now he thinks that is "cool" and he even asks sometimes when I'm sitting down at my computer, if I'm writing about him again. If I tell him no, he wants to know why not.  Someday he may not think my writing about him is "cool." And if that time comes and he asks me to stop, I will. If he asks me to remove what I have written about him in the past from the public domain, I will seriously consider that as well.

Is Inner Drive on your kids map to Success?

I've been mulling over the story of Abby Sunderland since first hearing she was lost at sea earlier this week. As a mother I am especially relieved to hear she has been rescued and is safe. As a mother I can also imagine the confusing combination of feelings her parents have experienced, not only the last few days, but for the past several months since Abby first set sail. I have no interest in judging the parents. I know that has been done, and will continue to be done. But as I've written before if you don't know the entire story, if you haven't walked that specific journey, perhaps you should withhold judgment. I don't know the entire story and I don't have teenage children. And, while I had a certain level of ambition when I myself was 16, heading off on my own on a journey around the world would never have crossed my mind.

So what is it that motivates a sixteen year old to attempt a solo journey around the world? I can speculate that in Abby's case it was a combination of a passion for sailing, a need for recognition, perhaps a need to best her brother, or maybe just the desire to be the best at what she loves. Abby clearly has an "inner drive" to accomplish something amazing. And that has had me thinking, what drives some children to do the amazing? Why do some children push themselves harder to achieve than others?

The Final Move

My husband and his brother moved their mother into a nursing home last week. It has been a long time coming, yet seemed to move far too quickly once the decision was made. She has Alzheimer’s disease and has reached a point where, even with daily help, she is forgetting to do things like take her medication and eat regularly. For many reasons moving her into one of our houses just isn’t feasible. She can’t afford an assisted living facility, so we did everything we could to keep her in her own apartment as long as possible.

I think this may have been one of the hardest things my husband has ever done. Perhaps not as sad as when his father passed away, but more painful because he and his brother had to make a decision for their mom that she isn’t necessarily happy with. And believe me, there were many tears shed and phone calls made asking “why.” "Why are you doing this to me?" "Why can't I just stay here?" Etc. What makes it more difficult is that she is in that in-between stage of Alzheimer's where most of the time she knows what is going on around her, but her short-term memory and her ability to rationalize are becoming increasingly compromised. And the episodes of confusion are worsening.

Mother's Day. It's complicated.

Am I the only one who experiences conflicting feelings over Mother’s Day? It’s not that I think it isn’t wonderful that we have a day to celebrate mothers. You won’t hear me saying we don’t deserve it. It’s just that Mother’s Day holds very complicated emotions for me.

I have a tenuous relationship at best with my own mother (and father). Without getting into the ugly of it all we just don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, most upsetting to me being how my husband and I are raising our kids. We have very limited contact with them now. Because of this I feel a huge void, because even at 42 there are times when all I want is “my mommy.”

And then there are the years I spent dreaming of a Mother’s Day where I was a mother, and crying in my bedroom because once again I wasn’t pregnant. Celebrating with the mothers in my life wasn’t horrible, it just highlighted that once again I wasn’t a mom. Every year that passed was harder. But I put on a happy face and endured, because if you aren’t going through it yourself, no one gets it.

Then finally we adopted our oldest son and I was a mom. And it was finally MY Mother’s Day. My FIRST Mother’s Day! And honestly, I wanted it to be all about me. I wanted to revel in finally being a mother on Mother’s Day. I wanted to hold my son and my husband close to me all day and let it just be about the three of us.

But I couldn’t. And not just because we spent most of the day with my mother-in-law and my husband's brother and his family. I couldn’t because I spent much of the day wondering if there was a woman half a world away in Russia mourning the loss of her own child. Even if Mother’s Day isn't celebrated on the same day in Russia (it is loosely tied in with International Women's Day as I understand it), wouldn't she still be mourning?

I am a Karate Momma

I am definitely shades of the stereotypical, overwhelmed working-mother.  I'm never quite sure I sent my kids off to school with a clean face after breakfast. The clean laundry is still sitting in the basket(s) waiting to be folded from the weekend. And the kitchen floor desperately needs mopping. Today at work I spent more time talking with insurance companies and mental health providers about my son than I did talking with my own clients. And I'm pretty much attached to my laptop in the evening after the kids are in bed.

One thing that hasn't been part of my life in quite a while though is exercise. I've always hated sweating. And I prefer reading a book over anything requiring exertion. So imagine my surprise when my son's karate instructor convinced me to attend his adult karate classes last year.

Don't tell him I said this, but I'm pretty sure he is a vampire.

Return receipt requested?

By now you have probably heard about the 7-year-old boy, Artyom Savelyev, who was put on a plane by himself and sent back to Russia. Artyom was adopted last September from a Russian orphanage by Torry Hansen, a Tennessee woman. Earlier this week, Hansen’s mother put Artyom on a United Airlines flight back to Moscow, with arrangements to have him met when the plane arrived and escorted to the Russian Education and Science Ministry. According to this Associated Press article, Artyom carried a letter with him that said Hansen was returning him to Russia due to severe psychological problems. The letter claimed that Hansen was lied to and misled by Russian orphanage workers and the orphanage director regarding Artyom’s mental stability, and that Artyom was violent and had severe psychopathic issues. The letter also included the statement, “After giving my best to this child, I am sorry to say that for the safety of my family, friends, and myself, I no longer wish to parent this child."

I cried when I first read the article, and even now, as I watch the news stories about it on CNN, there is a knot in my stomach that grows bigger with each report. Because, you see, this story hits far too close to home for me and my family.

Our 7-year-old son was adopted from Russia when he was six-months-old. He has psychological and behavioral problems that almost seven years into the adoption we are still trying to figure out. The reality is we probably have yet to touch the surface of what is going on in his mixed up little brain.

Take those sex offenders somewhere else, we don't want them here! Or do we?

Earlier this week I stood in front of a highly emotional group of parents at my son’s elementary school in Warrington and expressed disappointment in their lack of compassion. I was the only person there to speak up publicly and express support for the issue at the heart of the meeting. And while I spoke I was yelled and cursed at. It’s probably an understatement to say I didn’t make any friends that night.

The issue? The creation of a transitional living facility for three older teenage boys convicted of sexual offenses as juveniles.

I’ll stop and give you a few seconds now to pick your jaw up off the floor, because I bet the thought going through your mind right now is “are you freaking kidding me? You are in favor of moving rapists into your community?”

It’s a pretty visceral reaction isn’t it? “Hell no, not in my town!”

And yes, that is what many people spoke up and said at Monday night’s community information session held by Doylestown-based Edison Court, a non-profit organization that specializes in the treatment of juvenile sex offenders, sexual abuse victims and their families.

Biological or Adopted? and Filling out the 2010 Census

Today has been a busy day of filling out forms - camper registration, health form, emergency contact information, autism grant application, back-up camp forms (in case we decide to send my son to a "special needs" camp), nursing home application (for my mother in law - and by far the most difficult of the forms I tackled today) and two rebate forms. What an exciting thing to do an a beautiful weekend afternoon.

Oh yeah, I also just finished filling out the 2010 Census form.

This is the third census form I've filled out as an adult. It gives me a sense of fulfilling my civic duty, just like when I vote. It took me about ten minutes to fill it out. It probably would have taken less time except I was a bit taken aback when I got to question two when I was entering the information for my two sons. That question asks how this person is related to Person 1 (the first person entered in the form). The options you can check are "biological son or daughter," "adopted son or daughter," or "stepson or stepdaughter."

I suppose if we hadn't created our family the way we did I wouldn't think twice about it, but we did, and I do, and the question upset me a little.

Are booger eaters smarter than booger wipers?

I was at a birthday party recently with my 7 year-old son. While the kids were making their party favors several of the moms were sitting around talking. Of course our conversation turned to kids, and as we witnessed one of the boys mine for nostril gold, the conversation turned to kids and boogers.

One of the mom's commented that kids are either booger eaters or booger wipers, and then speculated that whether or not a kid was a booger eater or a booger wiper was genetic. It turned into quite the conversation as we compared notes and yes, our own personal booger history (booger wiper!). I was surprised at how some of the moms even knew if their husbands were eaters or wipers as kids (mine claims he was, and still is, a wiper).

My children are conspiring to drive me crazy!

I've always thought the crazy in me was genetic. Until recently that is, when it struck me that my children are conspiring to raise the insanity level in my head from elevated, right past high, to severe.I'm serious! I'm convinced that each morning they spend a few minutes planning the things they can do to put me over the edge. Their goal to see me rocking in the corner, drool dripping down my chin as I mutter to myself. Oh, they are good these boys of mine. Rarely is their intent obvious. Mostly it is insidious in its frequency, covered in a thick layer of cuteness.

Like this morning when Noah was in our bedroom at 6:30 with his newest box of Lego's, insisting he build it right then and there. His excitement at starting a new "project" so clear, that Rich and I just rolled over and let him.