grrlTravels

what not to wear, overtired edition

Last night at approximately 10:47 I looked down and said to K., "My pants are inside out."

"I know," K. said, "I came home and I just thought to myself poor Amy." I glanced up at him quickly and he was shaking his head and sounding kind. I burst out laughing. We laughed for two minutes straight, gasping.

"But they were inside out all day. And I never noticed. And I answered the door and talked to Margo."

"I'm sorry. I know. I'm sorry." Long pause. "Are you ok?"

We laughed again, hard.

I know it doesn't seem like a big deal, but part of my Type-A, super anal personality is a borderline compulsive concern about my clothes. I can guarantee that I have never, never, ever gone for an entire day, going to the bathroom at least 3 times (and probably more like 5) and not noticed that my pants were inside out. Ever.

I'm not ok. But at least it's a teeny bit funny. And that's how things are going over in my neck of the woods and that's why the posts are sporadic.

23 MAR has come around again

It is my birthday. AGAIN! Wasn't it just my birthday like, 2 months ago or so? No? Are you sure? Feels like it.

I had fairly low expectations this year seeing how we have a brand new son and the insomnia is hanging in there and the next vacation is not close enough to feel imminent and it's Easter and all. Did I mention I just got my period? Riiiiiiiiight. Low expectations met. A quiet birthday it has been.

Yesterday we bought E. and K. new bikes and we took a short walk, as much as I could manage with the cramps and gore. Today we had brunch and I took a nap. Not scintillating. K. has worked hard to make things nice but there is only so much he can do. He does get an A for effort. And I love him. Which is more important than the rest.

And now I am 42. I feel 42 and 22 simultaneously today. I can't imagine that in 2 months it will be 20 years since I graduated from college. Forty-two. Both of my grandmothers had children in their 40s and I find comfort in the thought. I am an older mother, but I am not too old. I must get to the gynecologist and have that mammogram. My self care all but evaporated when Z. arrived. It was all so overwhelming, so confusing, so consuming. It is time to grab control back. 42 seems like a good time. Time to take care of myself. Time to get serious about exercising. Time to care for the kids by caring for myself. I believe 100% that one of the best ways to show your special ones that you love them is to care for yourself in a serious, rational way. I know there isn't much time, or enough money, and the older you get the scarier it gets. But what is more important than modeling loving yourself to your children?

I hope this year holds more love, deeper positive relationships, exciting creative challenges, opportunities to learn about myself and this crazy world, and an ever deepening commitment to K. I wish the same for you. If I could (and I'll tell you right now that there is no way!) I'd invite each of you who have supported me and shared with me and listened to me over for cake and I'd give you a little gift on my special day.

When it comes down to it I'm deeply grateful for this life I have. Happy birthday to me indeed.

Friendly is as friendly does

We have only seen glimpses of R.'s personality so far of course. People kindly ask about the adjusting, how the kids are doing, and I am loathe to lie about it so I say it is going slowly and smile. The smile is for effect. There isn't much to smile about when your children dislike each other rather intensely and the competition for affection and attention reaches a boiling point daily.

R. competes with the other two fast and furiously. He is by turns charming and frustrated, happy and screaming. He is clearly in survival mode. Who can blame him? Thing is, life with someone in survival mode isn't much fun. Survival mode necessitates extremes of behavior. Extremes of behavior can be annoying.

So perhaps it isn't all that surprising that I was looking forward to our visit with our fabulous International Adoption doctor. I had a few concerns I wanted to talk about, and anyway it's just nice to talk to someone who gets it. R. has some of those behaviors which might not seem all that troublesome at first. I was feeling confused about them.

The most noticeable and problematic behavior happens when we eat out. R. loves to eat and restaurants make him happy. But while we are eating he looks at everyone but us. Anyone he can make eye contact with, he does. And he is charming. Very charming. He coos at the waitresses. He grins at the other patrons. He flirts, babbles, smirks. He is charismatic. To everyone. But us.

He will not look at us. At all. We talk to him. We offer him food. We make jokes. We offer him toys. We are firm. We offer him napkins. He bats his eyes at the waitresses.

So I talk about it with the doctor and the OT, the inappropriate friendliness, and they ask questions and take it all very seriously. They recommend that we don't eat out. In fact they recommend that we avoid all opportunities for him to practice his irresistibility. Avoid restaurants. Avoid crowds. Avoid crowded waiting rooms. Always try to keep his attention on us by limiting his interactions with others.

Suddenly I am more worried. And a tad overwhelmed. No restaurants. No crowds.

Of course the 'no restaurants' for me is like sticking a bulldozer in my eye. Two days later we go to a restaurant. It is more of a test to see how bad things really are. We have spent two days realizing that he does not make eye contact with us in normal, appropriate ways even at home. At the restaurant we put him in the middle and we really, really try to engage him and limit his interactions. And he is charming. He coos, he grins, he flirts, babbles, smirks. He is charismatic. To everyone but us. It is eye-opening.

I am not panicking. It is early days yet. But I am sobered. I know we have something we need to address. And address it we will. Hand me the folder of take-out menus. I'm handling dinner tonight.

stuffed

The weather has been a bear here. Pleasantly warm one day, freezing the next. I never know what to wear. Not that it makes all that much difference since I wear the same things every day rain, snow, or shine. But still. I feel like my wardrobe should be varying with the conditions. I feel like I am not keeping up.

More importantly I am not quite keeping up with the children, and that's bad. I sent E. to school with a warm, but not really warm, jacket the other day and when I picked him up he told me they had gone outside to play. I hurriedly asked him if he had been cold and he said yes. As it was quite windy I was surprised they had even gone outside and I had a big old pang of mother-guilt for not sending him in appropriate clothing like they have told us over and over at preschool. I am completely incapable of guessing when they will go outdoors to play and I need to send him in the big coat just in case. The big coat is such a pain though, especially with the car seat. None of the kids wear their big coats in the car unless there's a good reason, like we are taking the interstates to Antarctica.

Even though we only had big coats in China I still wasn't keeping up. It was much colder, there were no car seats, and we wore our long johns and big coats every day. In China I made my best effort to keep my children warm. As you have probably guessed the effort I made wasn't embraced by all of the people we met. Most of them repeatedly motioned towards the children and their meaning was clear—your kids are freezing. They were freezing. Because it was below 32 F and windy. But they were dressed warmly by my standards.

When we got to Hohhot I gave in because of R. (the newest one). I knew we would gets lots of flack about him and I was tired of feeling inadequate. So on our second day our facilitator and I took a lengthy journey to search out warm blankets and fat pants. Finally, finally, finally I had the right clothes at the right time. It was a revelation. I felt so relaxed, so competent. I was finally keeping up.

What's the spring version of fat pants? There isn't one, right.

BUNDLED


the arms are hilarious


do you think there are matching mittens too?


she looked puffier than the photo shows


the fat pants are so lumpy—
I wonder what is under there!


love the entire outfit


Z. sporting her pink fat pants


my family is bundled and still COLD

i had something in my eye

I cried at feeding therapy today.

I blame it at least partially on the sleep deprivation.

But I know that partly I am sad because I feel pressure from some people to make progress and begin weaning Z. off the overnight feeds and she isn't making progress and somehow I am missing something and I'm not advocating for her properly because we haven't found the person who is going to help us through this yet and I have no earthly idea where that person might be. Somehow there is this expectation that things will be getting better but they aren't and I don't know how to make that different and I don't have anyone telling me that it's ok that she is where she is even though I know it's ok because she is where she is and that must be ok. I keep waiting for her to mature cognitively to the point where I can begin to reason with her and talk things out and we can begin to do exercises or something constructive but she isn't getting there and when I sit and really think about it I know we aren't even close to that point and we might never reach it, but if we aren't close to that point then I don't see a next step and if there isn't a next step then what are we to do? What?

You can tell me it's just the re-entry and the sleep and the adjusting and the fact that mostly everyone here is unhappy right now, but sometimes clarity comes when your guard is down and you are forced to look at things in a different way. That's how it feels right now.

Z. cried too. Over mushy rice in her mouth. She threw a little fit and cried a whole lot and things generally went downhill. She must have had something in her eye too.