To My Teen, As You Come Of Age

In the Unitarian Universalist tradition, as with some of the major religions, there is a point in a child's life when their status changes within the organization.  Years of study, plus required Congregational and Community service, have been completed.  They are ready to be welcomed into the fold as adults.

In Unitarian Universalism, however, there is no dogma to be perpetuated.  Instead, the youth have been exposed, directly, to other religious traditions.  In 6th grade, they travel to Catholic churches, Buddhist temples, the Church Of The Latter Day Saints, and various Jewish temples; there, they hear, directly from participants, what those traditions believe.  UU kids are taught to decide FOR THEMSELVES, what truths to embrace.  And when they make their Coming Of Age, they stand before the Congregation and declare their Credo, or what they believe.  It's understood that they may have come to the conclusion that their is no Supreme Being or that the form they feel is right is different from what others believe.  It doesn't matter:  UU embraces believers and none believers alike.

Parents of new Coming Of Agers are encouraged to write a letter to their children explaining what they're proud of or disseminating "wisdom" we've accumulated.  Here is mine, written to my 14th year old when he made his Coming Of Age yesterday:


My Son,  

I knew you before anyone else. I felt your first kick, hiccup, and actually SAW your foot extend from my stomach. My voice was the first you heard as I sang to you in utero. Meeting you was the most extraordinary moment of my life. Finally – I was face-to-face with the being who had been in my tummy for 9 months!

Truth be told, Coming Of Age is no bit deal. You've been aging your whole life with each year bringing new surprises, challenges, and joys. It's been an honor being with you.

I want you to know that it's the JOURNEY through life that's important, not the destination, not even the milestones. Do your best, as I know you do. Value yourself and don't accept it when others try to invalidate the miracle that you are. Understand that you will make mistakes, have regrets, and learn from them. They're supposed to happen.

Don't be so hard on yourself. My love for you is ABSOLUTE, it is infinite.

You are THE MOST AMAZING PERSON I HAVE EVER MET. You are sweet, funny, creative, thoughtful, and so wise!

Life me, you have trouble enjoying life. We're always afraid of what's coming around the corner. What if, What if?, is always in the back of our heads. The only antidote to this that I've found is:

Be grateful. Every night, count your blessings, no matter how small and stupid. This process will help you see how lucky you are, even when life sucks.

I love you more than anyone else and I'm proud to be your mom.

Love,

Mom

~~~

Now I ask, dear reader, WHAT WOULD YOU WRITE AS YOUR CHILD COMES OF AGE?  WHAT WISDOM WOULD YOU IMPART?  

Ah, The Stupid Things People Say

(Note: This is Post #3 in my series celebrating National Adoption Month. In my 11/1/13 entry, I

The doll I made & sent to my baby in China.  She thinks it's creepy.

discussed how my family's journey to international adoption began and how we received the news about our precious daughter. On 11/8/13, I described the amazing day our daughter came home and recommended sites for adoption gifts.)


People don't always say the smartest things; sadly, they may not even realize how flagrantly asinine what they're saying is or how intrusive they're being. Once my amazing daughter was home, I became acutely aware of the ignorance spouting from people's lips, especially as it pertained to her. Fortunately, I don't carry a 2'x4', otherwise, those people would have been flattened instantly.


As promised, here are some of those comments and questions. Note: Most of the things you're about to read have come from a family member who has absolutely no clue as to how rude her comments were and, even after we pointed them out, disagreed that they were inappropriate. As I said, some people just don't get it.

• “Who's her real mother?” - I am. There's a perception that only the person who actually gave birth to a baby is the child's actual mother, but that's just not so. There are plenty of women who pop out a child who have no interest in either keeping it or taking care of it; there are some who treat their children, no matter where they came from, poorly. A mother, or a mother figure, is the female who raises you is there for you, day and night, no matter what. She is a woman who wants you and loves you completely. Yes, someone else gave birth to my daughter, but I am her mother. Plain and simple.
  
• “Of course she likes Chinese food. It's in her blood.” - This was said after we described how my baby enjoyed her first visit to a local Chinatown. I didn't realize that just because you're a native of a certain country, you're wired to enjoy that culture's food (yes, this is sarcastic).
  
• “She's going to be very good at math.” - Ah, yes, the stereotypes. They cause me to roll my eyes and practice my Lamaze breathing. If my daughter is bright, it's because she's innately intelligent and, hopefully, we're cultivating that intelligence. Being Chinese has nothing to do with it.
  
• “She's a china doll.” - I take less offense to this generalization, but still don't like it. If you know my little Fireball (her nickname for herself), you know she may look delicate on the outside, but inside she's the most determined, fiery child on the planet.
  
• “How much did she cost?” - Yep, a total stranger asked me this one day when I was sitting on a park bench watching my daughter play. I was, at first, speechless; thank God I do not carry the aforementioned 2'x4'. I thought about walking away, but instead bit my tongue and patiently explained to the Neanderthal that my child is adopted, not purchased. Yes, there are fees inherent in the adoption process just as one pays medical bills when one is pregnant and gives birth. Monies paid go to ensure that the adoptive parents are worthy of a child and can provide for it.
  
• “You're a saint for adopting a child.” - Thanks, but I'm not. My husband and I wanted a child. We had one. Simple.

As I've said before, I have two children and there's no disparity in the love I have for each of them. Yet, when I look at them I do see differences, but not because of the way they look. It's because each has individual strengths and is beautiful in his/her own way. They have their own mannerisms and expressions. Each is his/her own person. I do not consider how they look, just who they are. I am thankful for each of them every day. It is only online that I sometimes distinguish that one is biological and one is adopted. Why?


Because I want to encourage people to ask questions, especially if they're considering adding to their family. I want people stop thinking that love is automatically linked to bloodlines. I want people to consider adoption as a realistic option for building a family.


Adopting through our agency, CCAI, introduced us to a large group of people I am extremely grateful for. Our adoption group still communicates through Facebook and holiday cards, and a few years ago, we met with 10 of those families for a reunion at a resort in South Carolina. That vacation of a lifetime allowed my daughter to see friends she'd known before she met me and, since I didn't make that trip to the Far East, permitted me to meet some of those parents. What an amazing, joyful trip!


We also see two of those families who live within driving distance every year. It's important for my kids to see bi-racial families like us and it always strikes me how alike our girls are. We have some incredible people in our life thanks to adoption.


I asked my daughter the other day what she thinks of adoption. She shrugged her shoulders and said, “people think I'm special.” We talked about the fact that she is, not because of where she came from but because of who she is. She told me about other kids she knows who are adopted and asked when we're going to see her CCAI “sisters” again. We looked at her baby pictures and she recounted stories we've told her over the years of some of her infant antics. Then she snuggled into me. “MY mommy,” she whispered.


Yes, my love, I am your mommy. People may not say the smartest things, but we know the truth. How we came together doesn't matter. Our hearts are joined together as only a mother and child can be.


–


Here are some really cool websites that will help you or someone you know talk intelligently about adoption without, hopefully, offending anyone:


Parents Magazine has this wonderful adoption primer entitled 10 Questions Not To Ask Adoptive Parents (http://www.parents.com/parenting/adoption/parenting/10-questions-not-to-ask-adoptive-parents.


“What Not To Say To An Adoptive Mom” (http://mom.me/parenting/109-10-things-not-to-say-to-an-adoptive-parent) appears on the website mom.me. This article, written by Vanessa McCrady, is terrific and generated some interesting comments.


“What Not To Say To Adoptive Parents” (http://www.iamnotthebabysitter.com/what-not-to-say-to-adoptive-parents) appears on this website written by a parent in a transracial family. The funniest thing I find about being in a transracial family is that I forget the family is transracial! 


–

In my next post celebrating National Adoption Month, I'll review some of the adult and children's books I've read about adoption. Please join me again, won't you?

Sometimes I Hide

I am on the floor of the bathroom. The door is locked and I am playing Word Weasel on my phone. I am hiding from the 8-year old. Despite having thousands of dollar worth of toys in her room, she is unable to play by herself. We had fun today, playing 20 games of Trouble (she won them all), drawing, reading, and playing at least eight games of Hullabaloo (the GREATEST kids' game ever invented!  Find out why below.). I'm tired. She's been needy today.  Despite my begging

her to play by herself, I'd finally had it. She worked my last nerve, so I took refuge in the only room with a lock – the bathroom.

Moments like this used to throw me when I had only one child. I used to retreat to the bathroom is a storm of frustration and tears, swearing that I was THE WORST MOTHER WHO EVER LIVED. Now, after 13 years of parenting, I understand that I am normal and I am sure there is at least one other mother going through the same thing at this very moment.

Parenting is fun and wonderful and bittersweet, with the growing realization that the kids will only be little once and will, someday, not need you. Today is not the day. Diva has not been able to spend one minute without me; she has also worn down the patience of her father, who is in his office paying bills and is not to be disturbed. She knows better than to pester her teenage brother who is on Skype with his friends. So, once again, she's after me.

“Moooooommmmmmy!” The wail comes from downstairs. My daughter is neither sick nor hurt. She is frustrated because I am not at her beck and call. The sound comes closer and closer (cue in the suspenseful horror movie music). I sigh; my peace is about to come to an end. “Mommy! Come out here!” she demands. I tell her no, Mom is in a time-out. “I need my space,” I tell her. Predictably, this is not received well. She's now yelling and banging on the door. The tantrum escalates. I hold my ground. I am NOT coming out.

Suddenly it gets quiet. I'm not worried. As I said, there are two other people in this house so if there really was a problem, she could easily go to them. A slip of paper touches my foot. “You are mean,” it says. Well, at least she's in touch with her feelings. “Write on it,” she demands. I will not engage. I hear her outside the door, scribbling on paper she has pilfered from Daddy's office. More paper comes under the door. I am expecting more declarations of anger, perhaps even an “I hate you” note. Instead, the paper reads, “I really, really, really, really” with an arrow indicating that I should flip the paper to the other side; the flip side reads “really, really love you.”

I know she does. I'm filled with happiness because she knows, without a doubt, that I love her, too. We've played this scenario out many times and I've reiterated that Mommy loves her; Mommy just needs time to herself. My daughter does not take it personally. She continues to scribble love notes to me, while I breathe and play my game by myself. In a moment, I'll come out. My self-imposed time out will be over and we'll go on to paint with water colors and get ready for school tomorrow.

Another Mommy Storm passes. I unlock the bathroom door, smile at my beautiful daughter who hugs me, and take her hand. The refugee is out and I know that I am indeed, just another, normal mom.

–

I mentioned the game Hullabaloo. I bought the game years ago, when my son was in preschool and am convinced, as I said above, that it's THE GREATEST GAME EVER INVENTED FOR LITTLE KIDS! It's so simple that they can play it on their own, with friends of all ages. The game consists of different colored and shaped pads you place on the floor and a main “console” with one button that plays clear-cut instructions. Basically, you go from pad to pad; sometimes you dance on the pad, other times you contort into Twister-like positions or pretend you're playing a musical instrument, etc. The unit goes off if the kids haven't played it in a while. I used to carry it in my car because if the kids ever got bored at a relative's house or were on a playdate that they didn't get along with, I could whip it out. The game can be played indoors or out and I've even used it at parties. Today I found it in the closet and Diva, her teenage-brother, and I played it for at least an hour.

Listen up: if you have kids 9 or younger (preschool age), you MUST GET THIS GAME! It will save your sanity – trust me!