"There's no place like home," that's what Dorothy says in The Wizard of Oz after she's followed the yellow brick road and had enough adventure to last a lifetime. It's nice to go away every now and then but there's nothing like coming home again. Home should be a place of refuge, a place where we can relax, and breathe and not worry about the Wicked Witch of the West and all her minions!
Unfortunately, I sometimes feel like the Wicked Witch of the West because I’m grumpy and harried and overwhelmed and mean. At other times I’m sure I’m not her but feel as if I’ve adopted her in triplicate rather than the good, sweet “Glenda’s” I’d imagined.
There are good reasons why I get grumpy and harried and overwhelmed and mean. A few moments ago, for instance, when I got up to use the restroom, I had to set the alarm on the girls’ bedroom door where they’re snuggled up reading on this stormy Autumn morning. Actually, I had a choice, I could have used the restroom with the door open so I could still see them OR I could have set the alarm. I chose to set the alarm. There are times when I feel nearly desperate for privacy and the restroom is one place where I feel like I can legitimately claim a right to it!
The girls aren’t “little.” One is a teen and the other is a pre-teen. I can hear you asking,
"So why watch them, Kate? Are you a control freak or what?" I've been asked that same question more times than once and it’s been heavily implied more times than I can even count. The answer is no. Trust me, I dream of having the freedom to just head into the bathroom and shut the door without worrying about where the kids are, and I envy those of you who can.
It’s common for children who weren’t adopted in early infancy to have little impulse control and to do things like hoard food and garbage, and compulsively lie and steal. I remember finding corn cobs, taken from the kitchen trash can, in one of our girl's pillow case. I stood there scratching my head and wondering WHY. I asked the child who was not unwilling but rather UNABLE to provide an answer. (There’s complex psychology at play in that kind of behavior; it’s a compulsion rather than a choice.)
Another time, I went to bridle my horse only to discover that every rivet and tie was missing from the headstall and reins. I went to pick it up and it fell apart in my hands. I was aware of the kids tendencies to hoard odd bits of things and even steal yet it didn’t occur to me that one of them had stripped the bridle. I was utterly flummoxed. Who would steal a bunch of rivets and screws and conchas and ties from a horses’ bridle? I found the missing items in one of our children’s pockets when I was doing laundry one day. I made the mistake of asking why she’d taken them (don’t ever ask why!) and was met with a blank stare followed by the assertion that she had no idea what I was talking about. She said,
“Why would I take those, mom?” Indeed. Why would she take those?
Another time, I asked one of the children to bring me my purse, which was directly in my line of sight, while I was on the phone and trying to write something down. Somehow, in the process of carrying my purse about ten steps $60 disappeared,
POOF! A few days later I received a call from the school principal saying that my child had handed out three $20 bills to friends during recess! Our children are regular magicians with hands quicker than any pick-pocket, and they rarely ever admit to what they’ve done.
On another day, one child stood in front of my husband and I with syrup covering his cheeks, holding an empty and previously unopened Costco bottle, and insisted that he had absolutely no idea who drank all the syrup! For a moment, I actually wondered if there was another explanation, other than his having drank it, because despite the evidence it’s hard to believe that anyone could drink that much syrup, let alone do it in less than two minutes!
A long time ago, when the children first came to us, we were shocked by these behaviors but hoped and believed that they would pass with time, that love and stability would "cure" whatever drove them to hoard and steal and lie. Eventually we realized that our hopes were nothing more than dreams. The behaviors have not changed and it's been over a decade. There are times when it’s better or worse; they seem profoundly impacted by some internal clock that sends them spinning up and down. We’re fairly sure that were we to have access to the chronicles of their past we could map these seasons according to the trauma they suffered.
I sometimes take it personally and that’s when I’m the grumpiest and most unhappy. I think that because they are constantly stealing and lying that they don't love us. Every time I write the words “stealing” and “lying” in conjunction with my children my stomach clenches. It makes me feel, well, like I'm the Wicked Witch of the West. What kind of mother says that her children serially lie and steal? The answer is, mother's like me who cannot and will not pretend that their children have not been horribly impacted by the events of their past.
There's power in speaking the truth and I've lost my fear of being judged or, worse yet, of having my children judged by people who have never walked in our shoes. It takes courage to tell the truth and courage to HEAR it. More often than not, life isn’t the cotton candy spun dream that we wish it to be.
That said the things I've just told you about our adopted children do not define them but are merely parts of the whole of who they are, parts shaped by hard pasts that we cannot comprehend. Our children are also exceptionally kind and compassionate and well mannered and considerate of others. One is an accomplished equestrian and another is a gifted writer. They're each funny and charming and possessed of a contagious sense of joy. All of those things are true, the good and the bad.
It's not easy living with alarms on the kids' bedroom doors or having to police them all the time, but it's what we have to do. Sometimes that means that home doesn't feel like the haven we want it to be and wish that it was. Sometimes it means that we need a bit of respite from the kids, so we can be in our home and just relax so we’re not grumpy and mean and Wicked Witch of the West-ish. Sometimes it means that I dream of having ruby red slippers that, when I click the heels together, will magically transport me away from here.
Adopting special needs children is easily the hardest thing I have ever done in my life and my life has not been easy by any measure. My husband and I had no idea how hard it would be when we embarked on this journey. We thought we were doing a good thing, that we would be able to love these kids to wholeness. We learned that's not possible. That's not to say that we haven't blessed them or that they haven't blessed us. We see the impact we've had in their lives in things like their exceptional kindness, and their love of reading, writing and horses. We see it in their courtesy and compassion. They have changed much in their time with us and we've changed too.
I know more about my own short comings that I ever wanted to and I'm stronger now. I don't care if others judge me or misunderstand me because I KNOW the truth that I'm doing what must be done for the health and welfare of these children and that's what matters, not others perception.
And we have these bright shining moments when we’re doing things like: raking leaves and jumping in them, or riding our horses on a crisp fall morning, laughing and talking and having a blast; or swimming in the summer and doing handstands in the water, or maybe just watching Survivor together like we did last night, laughing and hooting and groaning our way through the show, when we're this happy family that's made it against all odds, that's MAKING IT against all odds. Love might not be enough to fix everything that was broken long ago, but it surely makes it better.
In the end, I can still say with honesty that there's no place like home.
There's no place like home. There's no place like home.©Just Kate, 2009
