Who's the Boss?

Last week I had to make an uncomfortable phone call, the likes of which I've never had to do before and hope to never have to do again, to the parents of a student whom I have not met to apologize for the actions of my student. After months of my child bullying this other child at school and on the bus, it was finally brought to the attention of the teacher.

This child of mine seems to be hard-wired to do whatever possible to take over, be in charge, boss others around. It's getter harder and harder to come up with creative responses to the child's attempts at taking authority. My first line of consequence has been the simple 'time-out' approach as in: "Well, if you need to be in charge, you'll need to go to your room and do it where you are alone and can be the boss."

That sometimes works if we are at home, but when the behavior occurs while we are out of the house, or at times when I am not around to address it, that is a different scenario. That was the case with the situation at school; since I could not be there to give direct instruction, we needed to find a way to address this at home and then have it carry over into various areas of life.

We began by agreeing that bullying is simply someone misusing whatever power they have or can get. It stands to reason, therefore, that someone with no power would have no ability to bully. Having no power for our child meant that whenever we were in the house, that child would be in the bedroom with the door closed. The only power available was the decision to obey or disobey the simple rule of "stay in your bedroom with the door closed." All other decisions were made on behalf of the child: what to wear, what to have for breakfast, what snack to pack for school, when homework would be completed. It was painful to watch my child dissolved to tears over the realization of what was being missed - family movies and games, special snacks, going to dinner and kids quizzing at church, kids worship. I agreed with the child that it was painful and sad to have to miss out, and I don't like when my kids are in pain. I also told this child that I was glad that the pain was felt because that meant that there was a connection being made between the bad choice and the bad and painful consequence.

But tears are cheap. Changed attitudes and behaviors are the goal; and for some it takes longer to reach a goal. A week of testing ensued: coming out of the bedroom to go to the bathroom three times an hour, blaming a sibling for 'hiding' a flashlight under the pillow (the flashlight had been removed the day before), manipulating the Sunday School teacher into allowing things that we had clearly made 'off limits', waiting until Mommy - who has set up the boundaries - is out of the area and Daddy - who wasn't aware of said limits - is in charge, and then disregarding the rules. So the punishment wore on and on with the hope that a connection would be made.

More 'power' was given at the beginning of the week after a day of solid obedience on Sunday, and with an apology on Sunday evening. Monday saw more smiles over being able to choose an outfit and the breakfast menu. Over the past few days, there have been opportunities to point out when this child is being considerate and kind to others - more smiles. There have also been a few times when it's been good to immediately point out instances of bullying. On Tuesday morning, after being asked to get ready to go out the door for school - twice, this child ignored my requests and then got upset when we went out the door and started up the driveway. After catching up to the rest of us and pouting, I pulled the child to the side and pointed out that power had been misused. This child had power to get ready to go out the door, power to listen and obey, power to be considerate of our schedule; and, I pointed out, that if that power was too much to handle, it could be taken away.

So for now we are just working at understanding what it means to be responsible with the 'power' that we each have and can use for good or for harm.

My Apples

Our second born child, Evan, is now eleven years old. When he was about two, I remember thinking - very frequently - "Where did this kid come from?" He was not at all like his older brother; he was loud, always grinning and laughing about seemingly nothing, talking non-stop, and making jokes - albeit very simple, nonsense kind of jokes (think knock-knock and chicken crossing the road.) We have a video clip of him with his head stuck in between the newel posts of the banister; we were able to get it on video because it had happened previously and we knew it was coming again. Upon calling for help and having his head released, he often went right back to trying to get re-stuck.

By the time he was three, I was convinced that we had somehow gone incredibly wrong in parenting this kid; it just didn't make sense that he was so completely different from his brother, we had birthed them both, after all. Slowly the connection began to be clear, this son of mine had directly inherited all of his DNA from one of his grandparents. Today Evan has an indescribable affinity for his Pappy. Thank goodness we were able to make this connection, otherwise I'm sure we'd be hauling Evan all over the place for all sorts of evaluations.

In the cases of our children who have been adopted, we have varying degrees of knowledge of the birth families. For one of our kids, we had much interaction with the mother, and watch as our child grows to be very much like her. Some of the personality traits and even physical characteristics are very obviously genetic, and that gives a certain sense of comfort: to the child to know that they are forever tied to their birth mother, and to us as parents to not have to wonder about the origin of certain behaviors.

With another of our kids the only information we have was provided in writing from the birth mother. This information is helpful as it details certain health conditions of the extended biological family. Therefore, we were not surprised to find this child diagnosed with specific conditions, and there is an understanding of what the future may hold.

In the case of our third adopted child, we have no written information and limited personal knowledge - our own as well as what was shared by case workers. Lately I'm wishing that we could get half-a-clue about what's going on. My normally friendly child has become a bully; or maybe not become, but rather, it's just now beginning to unravel. This well-laid plan of my child now has the attention of the teacher and several other parents, we have also gotten wind of similar situations happening in church.

This is the conundrum of adoptive parents: how much of this is genetics - we don't know if the parents had mental health instability, anger issues, medical conditions that could be a root cause of some of these behaviors, and how much of it is just personality traits which could also be hereditary. It's not as if knowing the personal information of the birth parents would 'fix' it all - not that I think my child needs fixing - but it might help to put things in perspective, to help us identify what we are seeing, and then to help us help our child learn a better way of handling life.

It's now very easy to see that Evan is an apple that hasn't fallen very far from the tree, and with our other two adopted children that is also a somewhat comforting and helpful statement. But with this last one... well, if we knew what the tree was like, we might be having more success with this little apple.

The Last Word

This child will be leaving my home and my care in two days. How much more do I say, do I question? The principle of the matter leads to me to act, to believe that it is a disservice to quit now; to not follow through would be going against the exact lessons that we have tried to instill.

Here's the thing: some people hear the term 'foster child' and immediately take pity. Not that they shouldn't, not that these kids don't deserve every ounce and shred of kindness. There has to be a balance; and I need to not be too judgmental because after living with a situation for a time - be it a disability, an illness, any extraordinary or out of the ordinary way of life - folks are able to develop a new normal, to just live life as if that 'extra' were not there. Foster families learn to live with hearing how cute the child is, how sweet and innocent - in most cases all very true; but in all cases, not the end of the story.

Our guy is sweet and charming (although, not entirely innocent!) and he has received lots of love and warm fuzzies from lots of people; and he should because he's missed out on so much of that. We are thankful for the caring people who have surrounded and supported him this last year. Where Stan and I have needed to step in and offer consistency and discipline - usually a not-so-fun job, others have been able to balance that hard stuff out by being fun and doing the so-fun job.

So where do school and teachers fit into this equation? We send our kids to school for an academic education; we do the character teaching and training at home. We support (as best we can, not being educators ourselves) the teachers fully; we would like to expect that to be reciprocated as we do our job. As has been made clear in earlier posts, I am not shy about contacting teachers. And over the past two school years with this young man, there has been much communication - mostly just checking on progress and lending support.

So today, two days before the end of his stay, a project comes home with a grade - a good grade, a too good grade, a grade that was not earned or deserved. This project was to be done over a period of six weeks with extensive research and recording required, and culminating in a well-written and nicely presented research paper. We had the expectations in the rubric that the teacher provided. It helps that we had a child in this grade last year and well remember the scope of this assignment. Stan and I offered encouragement and then strong suggestions along the way that this project required more effort.

After several weeks of prodding (in between which time came the 'just leave me alone' phase), we decided to allow natural consequences to ensue. The evening before the project was due, a hastily written assignment was completed in about twenty minutes. Stan and I had a chance to check it over - sloppy writing, spelling and grammatical mistakes, missing research - and knew that this would be a wonderful learning experience.

Wrong answer. The grade given was 'above average', and included on the front of the paper was a personal note from the teacher that he 'should be proud of his work.' Our guy has just learned that being a victim in the foster care system equals the easy way out; that playing the sweet and cute card will get you an unearned reward. Essentially, the character qualities of integrity, honesty, and hard work have been undermined and have been replaced with superficiality, laziness, and deceit.

So with two days left, do I call the teacher, just walk in with the project and ask questions? There is no point in having the grade changed, but there may be a bigger point. Perhaps this teacher's motivation was to reward what she construed as acceptable work from a disadvantaged student and a child who put forth his best effort; or she is not aware that children in the foster care system are capable of so much more than for which they are given credit. Maybe she didn't realize that what she meant as a helpful and encouraging gesture is really serving to teach him to look for and expect hand-outs, that as he moves forward he will come up against accountability and will need to be well-equipped to take responsibility for his choices.

This may be a learning opportunity for this teacher, and for me, as I think long and hard before I have the last word.

I Could Never...

Recently I heard again a phrase that has been repeated to me countless times during the past twelve years of foster parenting: "I could never let them go." The sentiment behind those words is sincere and, I think, is meant to be encouraging in this way: "It would be very hard for me to love a child as my own and then have that child taken from me. It must be very hard to do what you do."

Let me make it clear that it IS indeed very hard to love a child, invest in a child, disicpline and teach a child, cry over and laugh with a child - for a few weeks, a few months, a year or more - and then have the child move away. Let this also be clear: it is not something that I can do either.

There are so many things along this journey that I could never do...

Care for a baby with medical needs. It breaks my heart to see little ones suffer and it is humanly difficult for me to deal with medical issues. I have passed out several times while having my own blood drawn, or watching my kids undergo simple medical procedures. Performing simple medical tasks - feeding tube, hand splints, medication - is not something that I can do.

Understand school law and how public schools work. In my innocence - or more probably, ignorance - I have an expectation that professionals will be helpful and honest. The more we have dealt with kids with special learning needs, the more I am reminded that people do whatever needs to be done to save a dollar. Because we as parents are our children's only true advocates when it comes to their education - don't get me wrong, there are lots of wonderful teachers out there, great people and educators who care about the kids but whose hands are tied by so many policies and standards - I have had to learn about laws that I never would be able to do.

Find my way to obscure and not so obscure locations in the city, or in towns of which I have no knowledge. Being directionally challenged has put me in places - literally - that I will never be in again. When planning to drive to St. Christopher's Hospital the first time, I gave myself an extra hour of travel time, took the wrong exit, went the wrong way on a One Way street, got caught in some police traffic activity, failed to navigate my way successfully into the correct parking garage, and was still 15 minutes late to the appointment. I could never find my way around outside of my own community.

Allow strangers to question my parenting methods and abilities. About a half-dozen times we've received calls from the State Department of Child Welfare due to anonymous reports of us mistreating our kids. After the initial upsetting phone call, at least one visit is made to our home where we have been questioned about our discipline methods, given tours of our home including sleeping arrangements for all the children, and subjected our children to being questioned and even photographed for documentation. Each time this happens I am reminded that this is something I could never do.

Although my personality allows for me to organize and coordinate fairly well, keeping a schedule and a house running for eight kids is a challenge. When some of the kids require appointments for various therapies, case worker appointments, and family visits the calendar can get a bit crazy. Add in all the normal family and kid activities and it becomes a task of such magnitude that I can not handle; at least not without some things falling through the cracks.

Empathize, or at least sympathize with adults who have made poor and just flat out wrong choices. Kids are kids and will think and act like kids; they make spontaneous, poorly thought through decisions sometimes. Kids learn by making mistakes and suffering through consequences. Adults who are parents are expected to have grown past that stage. When the wrong and selfish choices of parents affects their children to the point of placement in the system, it is enough for me to pick up the pieces and deal with the behaviors of the kids. I can never begin to have understanding for the parents.

The list could go on: being the victim of theft at the hands of a child in our care, having our kids physically and verbally attacked, realizing that a child has run away, soothing the broken heart of a child whose parent failed to show up for a visit - again, dealing with an over-worked mental health system. These are all things that we have experienced, but that I could never do.

Thankfully, my God is so much bigger and better than all those challenges. So when hard things happen, when a child who I have loved on, taught, watched grow and learn, become part of our family, taken up a space in my heart - when God has decided that it is time for that child to move on, then I can know that even though I could never do this, God can. He's done it every time.

That's ODD

A few weeks ago, some friends pointed out that the abbreviation for Oppositional Defiant Disorder - ODD - spells the word odd. Strangely, this had never occurred to me. So when I talk about our family living with ODD I may not be properly portraying the situation. However, it's amazing how ODD can really equal odd at times.

We have two children who have been diagnosed with Oppositional Defiant Disorder which usually goes hand in hand with a diagnosis of ADD or ADHD (Attention Deficient Disorder or Attention Deficient Hyperative Disorder). Both of our ODD kids (I can lovingly call them that because they belong to me!) have that duel diagnosis.

This is how ODD looked this morning:

Daughter 1 came downstairs at 6:30 to tattle on Daughter 2 who was pushing up on and kicking from underneath (they are in bunk beds) the mattress of Daughter 1 and not stopping after being asked. Daughter 1 went back to bed and Daughter 2 stood in the hallway until it was time to 'get up' - like they and the rest of the house weren't up already.

Daughter 2 threw her towel down the steps (it was hanging on the banister so she could take it to the shower this morning), and with ever increasing volume to match her increasing frustration, banged her body into the wall just outside the bedroom where she was told to stand. To her credit, she did not move from the spot.

Since there were problems in the girls' room this morning, Mommy got to choose the outfits (on most days when everything runs smoothly, the girls chose their own outfits.) Daughter 1 handled it in stride because she knows the rules and knew they had been broken. Daughter 2 was very unsatisfied with the outfit of my choosing (although it is an ensemble she's picked out for herself on other mornings) and so threw the clothes, slammed drawers and doors, grumbled and mumbled and then yelled about her displeasure - all while taking a veeeerrryyy loooonngg time to get dressed.

On arriving to the kitchen, Daughter 2 noticed that her book bag was not in the exact same spot in which she had left it yesterday. She began a tirade directed toward her brother whose book bag had apparently usurped the appointed spot. This brother had nothing to do with the situation and wisely walked away without a word.

While I was just around the corner in the kitchen, waiting for the challenge of finding an agreeable breakfast for my sweet girl, I somehow missed her exit. Instead of packing her book bag, as I assumed she was doing, she quietly (it's amazing how she can turn the volume up and down so quickly!) slipped back upstairs. When I met her at the bottom of the stairs I tried to ask - in the most non-threatening of ways - why she had gone upstairs. Her lowered eyebrows, hard stare, pursed and pouty lips, and tightly crossed arms gave the distinct message that she was not planning to be at all compliant.

After a bit of investigation, the lip gloss (that we ALL know is not to go to school) was found in the hiding spot of her pocket and was placed in no-man's-land on top of the refrigerator where all smuggled attempts are stored. Then she decided to break her silence! The rampage began: the lip gloss belongs to her, get it down NOW, she doesn't have to listen to us, her pants are too loose, she doesn't even WANT breakfast, and is NOT going to sit down.

I can't even tell you how it all ended because at about the point of me trying to force her into a chair at the table, and all 42 pounds of her plus her anger and energy fighting back, it was time for me to take two of the boys to the orthodontist. Stan was left with the vestiges of the morning and the task of getting this little girl (and three other kids) to the bus stop.

This evening he and I will check in with each other about the events of this morning; and I'm sure that neither one of us will think that anything about it was odd.

True Love

Our first Valentine's Day being married included me (eight months pregnant) and Stan. A year later there were six of us. Every year since then the make up of our family has fluctuated and so has the way love has looked in our house.

Love is... working with a three year old little boy who has never - I mean, NEVER - experienced discipline. Time-out was such a foreign and scary concept for this child, and the idea of needing to listen and obey was equally as difficult. We started slowly and consistently with lots of encouragement. After continued and creative attempts including: rewards (it's crazy, I know) for sitting for 30 seconds, using a high chair with tray attached (we were well within appropriate boundaries), and allowing him to choose where the time-out spot would be placed (another general no-no) we were able to achieve a measure of compliance and hopefully helped to establish some stability for the child (who ended up being in placement for two weeks) and his family.

Love is... spending hours and hours combing through the hair of two sisters with head lice. How embarrassing and invasive for them to arrive in our home, having been pulled away from family and everything familiar, only to have to be subjected to rigorous sessions of shampooing and lots of combing. This extra expenditure of time was not something we had planned for, but was a blessing as we were able to use that time to share with each other and begin our relationship in such a nurturing and caring way.

Love is... spending four hours every Monday afternoon for eight months driving two little brothers back and forth to a visit with their birth mom which usually started late, included little interaction, and ended early. Listening to the seven-year-old recount the sad details of the visit and his repeated disappointment in his mom's disinterest was hard to hear. Even harder was biting my tongue to refrain from making any negative comments regarding those awful visits or his birth mother.

Love is... opening your home. Not to the children who need a safe and secure home, but rather to the entourage that follows. In each case, there are at least two case workers involved who are required to visit and inspect compliance. There may be a child advocate attorney or social worker who may or may not be closely involved. With little ones we've had as many as three therapists visit us weekly. For just a little while I was concerned that the house be freshly vacuumed and dusted for each of these visits, but I quickly realized that a busy, happy home is rarely freshly vacuumed.

Love is... letting them go. By far the most challenging - okay, heart wrenching - part of fostering is saying good-bye. Many people have commented that they couldn't foster because they could never let a child leave. Here's the thing: we don't do this for us, we do it for them. They don't belong to us; our 'own' kids don't really belong to us - we've given them back to God who has generously allowed us to enjoy being their parents for whatever time He has deemed. Here's the other thing: it's sometimes a relief to know that a child has moved toward permancy (either reunification with family or adoption) and is no longer required to languish in the foster care system. And along with that, if I can be totally honest, there are placements that were difficult and draining, the end of which brought a welcome respite to our family.

Love is... being blessed by each child who has come into our home.

Is it just me?

My kids are their own people. My kids are not little adults. My kids know the difference between right and wrong, between expected and unexpected behavior. My kids have heard the speech about wearing the 'Heisey' name.

All these statements are true and all play out in various ways many times a day; some that I see and most of which I don't. My kids, like mostly everyone else's, are entrusted to the care of teachers, leaders, coaches at school and in music, sports, and church activities. My kids, like mostly everyone else's - like most adults, for that matter - can have different dispositions and roles and show various sides of their personalities depending on the situation.

Some of our kids are quiet, but are also able to provide input and leadership in some settings; most of our kids are the opposite. We've raised some very opinionated and outspoken offspring. Home is the place where we identify character qualilties, strengthen the areas of weakness and practice using our gifts in helpful ways. Exploring and practicing at home prepares them for living 'out in the real world.'

How can I know how they are doing out there in the world when I'm not with them? I ask, and I'm not shy about it. Regular e-mail contact with teachers is a routine; conferences for some of the kids are a part of the schedule; checking in with Sunday School teachers, coaches, and activity leaders are just what we do. When the report is specifically positive or not positive that gives us something to rejoice over or work at while we are at home. Reinforcement is a great teacher and reward; recognizing progress in our kids brings joy to our family. Why is it that more families don't take advantage of this?

Often when we begin a new school year or activity with an adult leader with whom we have not worked previously, the reaction to my specific questions are met with ambiguity (of which I am not a fan), or with a generalization (as in, "well, they were ALL full of energy today.) The behavior of the class or group as a whole is not my concern, but rather the choices of my child to obey and respect. Understandably, it is not comfortable for the adult in authority to give a less than satisfactory report; who wants to tattle on the kid who called out in class, couldn't keep their hands to themselves, or disrespected authority?

So it takes a bit to build that relationship with the teacher, for him or her to realize that we seriously want to know the truth, that our intention is to follow up at home, to continue to teach (and yes, discipline - not a bad thing) at home where we can practice. The message of wanting to work as a team with that leader needs to be conveyed; that we as parents support the authority of that adult and we reinforce at home that our children are expected to respect all who are in authority over them. Our hope is that the people who have authority over the Heiseys will feel supported, encouraged and respected.

Having been on the other side as a coach and teacher of different kinds of groups for all kinds of kids, it is sometimes hard to understand that other parents don't ask specific questions. Perhaps their kids struggle less with making right choices. Or maybe it's just me.

I.Got.Nothing.

This is a phrase I recently used in an e-mail to a teacher: "I.got.nothing." It was following a class where I had witnessed my sweet child behave in an undesirable, and yes, embarrassing way for which I had no explanation.

This child of mine is complex; one minute obedient and helpful, and in the next breath throwing a tantrum that takes us back five years. Okay, slight exaggeration, there's usually time to take more than one breath in between, it's just that we both seem to forget to breathe.

My message to this teacher was to apologize, first that the incident occurred - although this teacher previously has found it necessary to contend with my student, in this instance we were all blindsided and the behavior was more pronounced; and secondly that my presence did nothing to alleviate the situation, and so not only was the teacher caught by surprise, but the most help I could offer was to watch the downward spiral of my kid.

In addition to the obvious frustration of living in that moment, is all the history we have built in this class with this teacher. Just being in the class is a generous favor that the teacher has extended to us; this is an exception based upon our commitment to this process, and so we have had conversations centered around what our response should be: one of gratefulness, thankfulness, and taking advantage of this special opportunity. We want this to be a positive experience so that other students may be included in the future.

The underlying issue seems to be a simple lag in the maturing process. Where other children her age are able to make and keep friends, my girl has adopted a superior attitude with other kids which 'allows' her to direct and boss others; not a great first impression. Her motivation seems to be one of wanting to nurture and care for others; she loves babies and small children, but also likes that she is bigger, stronger, and smarter than they. So when someone she perceives as a friend does or doesn't do what he or she is 'supposed to' do, then my daughter goes into the immature tantrum and tears mode which only serves to drive the wedge between her and her friends deeper, as not many seven-year-olds know what to do when a peer exhibits that behavior.

So when some sort of correction occurs, it is met with a still-in-the-process-of-maturing attitude that says, "I know how to do it myself!" The way this attitude looked that day was: stomping feet, swinging arms, refusal to do the requested task - actually, a refusal to move in any directed way at all, under-the-breath mumbling while the teacher was talking, looking around to be sure that the other students had all their attention on her, glaring at me until I spoke to her, then the glare was replaced by tears. And all this with several other moms looking helplessly and sympathetically on, and the teacher - with eyebrows raised in question - seeking for any shred of a way out of the hole into which he felt us all sinking.

By that point, it was time for class to be over - whew! My girl and I walked to her next stop in school without saying a word; she knew better and so did I. Once I was alone with my thoughts about that situation, I replayed it to try to see what had been missed while in the thick of it. I couldn't name a trigger that had started the behavior, didn't understand the motivation behind it, and certainly wasn't sure how to reverse or even halt the negative behaviors. No matter how I turned and tilted it, what perspective I took, or how much I analyzed, it didn't make sense: I got nothing.

But even in the midst of it seeming and feeling as if I've got nothing, it becomes clear to me that I've got quite a lot: a sweet daughter who loves people and wants to please her teachers, the support and empathy of fellow moms, a teacher who wants to find ways to help my child to grow, and a family at home who will welcome us at the end of each day no matter how much nothing we have.

Mom's Quirks

Since I've not held back in posting about some of the quirks of our family brought about by the dynamics of our kids, it only seems fair that some of the quirks of the mom be shared. Due to the expanse of my quirkiness, this may take more than one post - but don't look for a sequel too soon.

Quirk #1 - Controlling
Although I could rationalize this by saying I am a first-born (translate: bossy big sister), or that all moms are controlling, those excuses are not valid. The extent of this character trait was made most clear to me a few months into our fostering journey. We were caring for a little boy, four years old, who had come from a situation of severe neglect (he didn't know what carrots or green beans were, but he knew the difference between Snickers and Milky Way candy bars.) So one day at lunch we had finished eating and I cleared away the dishes while he was still sitting at the table. Before taking away his cup, I asked if he wanted more to drink. He said no, but as soon as I moved the cup to the counter he said yes, so I brought it back, he said no, I took it away, he said yes ... you get the tedious picture. Since this little guy had had no control over his life thus far, he was experimenting with me and the cup... and it really irked me, REALLY. At that moment I didn't stop to think about why what was happening was happening, or try to understand his motive. My focus was on the fact that I would not be controlled by this child; on how out of control I felt and not on the child's perspective.

Through years of practice with different kids, I am finally learning to look beyond myself and to understand, sympathize with, and help to meet the control needs of some of these hurting children. It is a continuing struggle as my kids grow up to not tell them how much juice to pour in their glasses, remind them to zipper up because they might get cold, or cut that piece of meat smaller. Having fostered teenagers has been a crash course in relinquishing control. One of our favorites was a fifteen year old girl who, although having a fitted sheet, flat sheet, and comforter on her bed, insisted that she sleep on the bare mattress with the comforter all wrapped around her. What a trivial issue and what an easy way to allow some control. Lesson (partially) learned.

Quirk #2 - Speak first, think second
Too many times I have offered opinions that were not solicited, usually with the intent of helpfulness. Sometimes the intent is to impart 'wisdom' or 'knowledge'. The assumption made on my part is that others will certainly benefit from what I have to share; often without first stopping to inquire of their needs.

The scope of foster parenting is filled with land mines for me and my quirk. There are people all around me who just 'ought to' learn about the needs that are yet to be met, the deficiencies of the system, the agony and anguish of trying to help in helpless situations. Then there are therapists who make the mistake of asking for my thoughts and opinions - they don't realize they've released a gusher; or the birth parents who hardly ever are interested in my perspective, but by golly, sometimes they hear it anyway.


Quirk #3 - Competitive
No secret here; I love to win - board games, hide & seek, backyard kickball, debates, arguments, and my new favorite: Words with Friends. Coaching Odyssey of the Mind and Bible quizzing teams have provided acceptable outlets for this quirk. Parenting... not so much.

Many are the times I have met my match, to name a few:

toilet training - I will never win this one; if a child does not want to poop in the potty, the child cannot be made to to it. I have, at least partially (read: successfully), been involved in the toilet training process of about a dozen children. This activity has frustrated both my controlling and competitive quirkiness.

games - Technology has allowed my kids to move light years beyond me when it comes to video and computer games. I have learned to laugh at myself as my vehicle continually dives off the Mario Kart cliffs. And it's amazing how hard it's gotten to hide well and run fast when we play hide & seek.

adolescent arguments - These can start anytime after a child is able to string 3 or 4 words together. Slow to learn, or slow to give up, I have yet to learn that there is no winner in these situations. Unlike a younger child who I may be able to out-reason, my older kids have always stepped up the challenge as they unleash and wield their logic.

the 'best' mom - A big part of competing is comparing: other moms are more fun, more creative, more loving, more consistent, more energetic... Through fostering and adopting I am learning that God puts imperfect families together in perfect ways. So while I get caught up in comparing myself and my family with that 'perfect' family, I am missing out on the specialness of who God has crafted us to be.

So that's the first installment of "Mom's Quirks." While presented in a somewhat humorous light, my intent is to be honest; after all, I've been honest when recounting the behaviors and personalities of my kids. My intent is not to seek affirmation - God provides that in bundles, and sometimes we feel like people think what we are doing is somehow 'above and beyond.' I'm here to tell you that if that's what you see or think, it's all God working around and through me being a mom.

Seating Arrangements

I was in church and I was jealous. All around me were families, families sitting together, with the mom and dad sitting right next to each other. I was jealous.

Whether our family is headed to church or a restaurant, planning our seating arrangement is an important step in the preparations. There are certain combinations of kids that are obvious mismatches and almost always result in disaster.

For example: our Instigator cannot sit next to either of his sisters as he is a master at undercover poking, nudging, and teasing. For a neighbor, Loud Sister is the worse choice as she is especially adept at tattling without tattling - you know, just loudly complaining about her brother's behavior. Bossy Sister is also not a good move as she will attempt to correct her brother's behaviors and then pout to get the attention of everyone seated around us (because she's also the Attention Seeking Sister).

Loud Sister cannot be seated next to (in church) or across from (in a restaurant) her oldest brother because she becomes concerned and distracted with his behaviors that can (and most often do) encroach on her physical space - imagine repeated yawning and stretching.

The two girls cannot be blamed for being a poor combination; after all, what two ladies don't automatically fall into a chat fest - those girls can talk about everything and nothing - which in this case, more often than not, results in some sort of bossing and bickering (if this happens at home they are quickly dismissed to their bedroom to complete the argument.) So in church they are seated separately, but in other situations where conversation is appropriate behavior, they are usually wonderful seat-mates.

Yawning-Stretching Brother is usually very quiet in church-like situations, but does need to be next to mom or dad. As mentioned, he cannot be next to Littlest Sister, and also does not do well when sitting beside Attention-Seeking Brother as he knows exactly how to get his older brother to giggle, snort, or verbally protest (not discreetly). Yawning-Stretching Brother often serves as a buffer between Attention-Seeking Sister and the Instigator.

For obvious reasons, Attention-Seeking Sister and Attention-Seeking Brother are never seated next to or across from each other. The issue is compounded by the fact that this sister seems to almost worship this brother; trying to get his attention by any possible means: giving compliments, teasing, kicking under the table. And should she be corrected for her behavior, that just gives her another reason to seek more attention by pouting and turning on the tears - mom and dad are just so mean and unfair.

We do have Buffer Brother who is able to be seated beside or across from anyone. But Buffer Brother, because he has such a heightened sense of his surroundings and how his siblings' behaviors might impact others in the situation, tends also to be very uptight. He easily falls into a mode of trying to right everyone's wrongs. So sometimes we need to think about where his buffering abilities are best used; often it's beside Loud Sister as she will sometimes respond better to her brother than to mom and dad.

As we pull into the church parking lot and unload every Sunday morning, Stan and I have an unspoken conversation; he can read my face. Silently we decide who needs to sit next to him because I just can't, usually one of the girls; they cannot sit together anyway. The boys' postitions shake out as we find our seats and we all settle in. We've had people comment on how our family sits so nicely together, and that's good to hear because then we know that all that behind the scenes work on our seating arrangements has paid off!