Coming Off Orlando

This was my second year to go to Orlando, to what is officially called the Early Trauma and Attachment Meeting (you should especially call it that when you’re crying your  eyes out because someone is trying to tell you that your flight is overbooked….) and it was another amazing experience this year, but amazing in a different way than last year.

Last year I came back from Orlando empowered. I came home and for the first time since bringing Boohoo home I knew that I wasn’t alone. I made connections, I made friends, I made support system. I met Christine. I met Corey. Both of whom were responsible for me surviving long enough to get to Orlando. It was an incredible experience.

This year was different. (I still was afraid to be called out as a fraud, but no one has done it yet. I’d say the fear isn’t gone entirely yet though.) This year I got to sit and talk to JJ, a woman that I’ve been secretly admiring since last year. Allow me to gush about JJ. She is beautiful and smart. She’s put together and soft-spoken, but you can’t let that fool you. She’s tough and she knows what she’s talking about and she’s one of those woman that can (and does) encourage you while not taking any excuses. She has a heart of gold, just to fall back on cliché. I’m pretty sure that I made a friend for life in JJ and if she disagrees she’s going to have a heck of a time shaking me off. She’s the one who taught me to hoop! (Kelley was the one who made me think that I could do it, but JJ showed me how) JJ was the one that put me back together after hooping proved to be a little too therapeutic for me and I laid down on a lounge chair and cried like a baby. (I did a LOT of crying this year!) Everything that JJ told me resonated with something that I’d been thinking over, but the way she lays it out there is just too compelling to ignore. There are going to lots of positive changes in this house and they’re going to be inspired by her. It scares me that JJ is only a few years older than I am because if I’m going to be as great as she is by the time I’m her age I have a lot of catching up to do!  (Keep reading because the hooping picture is coming at the end)

The other thing that was different about this year was that I met other moms of little kids. Trauma sucks no matter what, but I really believe that parenting trauma in a toddler/preschooler is really really different than in an older child. I’m not saying it’s harder just that it’s really different. I got to meet Audrey and Shannon both of whom are surrounded by little ones day in and day out as well. I don’t know what else to say except for the first time ever I got sit with women living mirror images of my life. It was so refreshing and relaxing and freeing and affirming. At one point we were all cracking up as we admitted something that we were each doing because we thought we were ‘bad moms’ and it turned out that we were all doing the same thing. Healing happens in community.

There were so many other women there this year that going back and seeing them again, just seeing them, was like a shot of sunshine. The first year was amazing. The second year was unforgettable. There are still women that I need to sit down and talk with because I haven’t been able to have any (let alone as much as I wanted) conversations with them. I joked this year that I was going to bring an appointment book. I should have!

Hooping. I learned how to hula hoop. I can’t make you understand what a big deal this is. I went to Orlando knowing that I would not and could not hoop. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t something that I could do. I’m too awkward. Uncoordinated. Embarrassed. Let’s be honest. Stupid.  I watched the other women do it and I was jealous, but I wasn’t about to try it. They could do it, but I couldn’t because clearly I was inferior. (Yes, my brain is the original trash-talking champion.) No hooping for stupid me.

Enter Kelley. Kelley who might be the dearest and sweetest and most unassuming person I have ever met. She asked me why I wasn’t hooping and I smiled and told her that I couldn’t do that. And sweet sweet Kelley looked at me with her nicest smiling eyes like I had just told her I had six arms and fairy wings. She just wasn’t buying it. And I went to bed thinking to myself, “she actually thinks I could do it”.

And the next day this is what happened. I love hooping!  How crazy is that?!

And there’s so much more. There was the 5k. The restaurant. The talking. The crying. The sharing. The food. The friendships. The amazingness that is sitting in Christine’s class and listening to her talk. The stories of the women that are so so so strong. The selflessness and giving that is Corey putting this event on for us. Orlando meant so much to me this year and I almost missed it. Orlando changed me this year and I almost missed it.

Last year I went to Orlando and I came back feeling like I was empowered and like I had a support system. This year I went to Orlando and I came back feeling like I was awesome and like I have sisters.

Hold Your Baby

I’m noticing a trend in my adoption circles. It’s not a NEW trend, I’m just slow to notice things. It came to my attention in Orlando because suddnely what I was saying to other people I had people saying to me.

This is what I say to (all parents, but particularly) parents of newly adopted young children:

HOLD YOUR BABY!  and I use the word ‘baby’ loosely.

If I could tell parents of a newly adopted infant/baby/toddler one thing it would be this:

PICK THAT BABY UP AND DON’T PUT THEM DOWN AGAIN!

Buy/beg/steal a baby sling/wrap/Ergo/Beco or use the arms God gave you, but put that baby up against your body and keep him/her as much as possible. Mom first and then dad. Let that baby feel your heartbeat, get used to the way you move, be with you, become comfortable with your body. Hold your baby.

An infant carseat is a fabulous invention when used as intended…in the car. Hold your baby. Carry them from room to room with you in the house on your hip or snuggled into your elbow. Wear them in grocery store. Take them out of the seat when you dash into Target because they’re not sleeping. Snuggle them into your bed with you until they fall asleep or while they sleep in whatever form you’re comfortable with. Hold your baby now even if there’s no attachment problem consider it preventative care.

I’m going to burn some bridges and say that the less your baby likes it the more that they need it. And in case that didn’t offend you, here’s my next statement: the less you like it the more you need it.

Yes, that last statement(s) was directed at me. The less contact I want to have with my daughter and the less contact she wants with me the more we need it to happen. We are talking about the value of what’s easy initially versus the long term health of our relationship and (truly) your child’s mental health. All kids need to be held. Kids who have experienced trauma need it even more. If your child is older than “baby wearing age” or has a history of certain kinds of abuse then you might need to work your way into this and, of course, use appropriate methods to make it happen, but please, make it happen.

It’s been nearly two years and my daughter is still young, but we’ve goofed this (and a million other things) up. We should have held her more. We should be holding her more. I know all the reasons why we didn’t and some of them are good reasons and some of them are crappy reasons. But all the reasons in the world don’t take away the need.

Over my Orlando weekend, especially, I had a chance to talk to one mama that I wish I could be or at least fold her beautiful self up and put her in my pocket and she was so loving, but so not joking around that I (and the other mamas to young ones who were around) needed to hold our “babies”. Her child is older now and she said that she wished she had held her more when she was younger. She talked about how it just gets harder to do as they get older. Now she has an older one and it can be a bit awkward to meet that need but stay age appropriate.

She really got me to thinking (and she taught me to hoop!) about how I can make it a priority to hold Boohoo, to get that healthy physical contact in now and just encouraged me in so many other ways too.

So, I’m passing that encouragement on to you as well: hold your babies NOW! And also, tell me what you do to make sure that you’re meeting that need. Because really, I need some ideas….

Weight Watchers Weekly Weigh-in 9

Nothing stellar to report this week. I knew it was coming. I went to Orlando. I love Orlando. Orlando. Orlando. Orlando. As Corey the Magnificent always tells us, “There are no rules in Orlando” and while I didn’t specifically ask her about this I’m pretty sure that extends to Weight Watchers.

I ate what I wanted, which was actually less than what I thought I would eat, but all of it was junk. Mmmm. I drank what I wanted…you know, water (in the form of ice in my margarita) and really, if I could go back right now I think I’d eat even more. It seemed like I was always too busy talking to eat. lol. part

I was actually active-ish while I was in Orlando. I walked a 5k and I learned to hoop. Yes, hula hoop. Crazy. I can’t talk about that yet, but I will. Neither of those things are particularly wild or unique to me, but I’m proud of both.

On a different note, I had one friend who hadn’t seen me since I went to Empowered to Connect in the fall, and she told me that I looked good and she could see that I had lost weight. That was nice to hear! Doubly nice because (prior to this week) I’d lost about 8 pounds, which isn’t a ton, but I’m proud of it, and had thus far gone unnoticed. Even to me, while I was noticing that some clothes were fitting better I didn’t think that it was very obvious yet. And then, my husband noticed this week as well. Granted, he’s legally biased and it’s generally in his favor to to flatter/lie to me, but he’s not the kind of man with compliments spilling from his mouth. Anyway, he told me that he could tell I’ve lost weight and that was good too.

Long story short: I gained 1.2 pounds this week and I could care less. I would like to lose more than that this week, but if I don’t…I still don’t care. I have 360 days a year to do Weight Watchers. I have 5 days a year to be in Orlando and it’s so worth it.

Orlando Metaphors

I’m back from Orlando I’m sorry to say.  I get a fair number of people that ask me, “What is Orlando?” It’s so hard to explain. I don’t even think that my husband fully understands what Orlando is. He knows that I need it and doesn’t begrudge me the days that I’m gone (except when I get confused about when I’m coming back) and that’s more than good enough.

In fact, while I’m not talking about Orlando I’d like to do a shout out to the husbands, partners, friends, respite providers, and family members of the 90 women that came to Orlando this year. You all rock! But back to me, and my brief ode of gratitude to my husband. It’s such a blessing to be able to leave for the weekend (or so) and not worry about the kids. I know you’ve got it and let me tell you honey, that is hot.

What is Orlando?

Imagine life is life. Attachment problems is the rain on my life. Orlando is my waterproof blanket. I’m at home now and I’m wrapped up in my waterproof blanket and makes the water roll right off. Maybe sometimes I get brave and I stand up and dance in the rain. I’ll get wet doing that, but it’s okay because I can just hunker back down in my blanket. Maybe I get ticked off and decide to scream at the rain. I’ll get wet doing that too, but it’s okay because I can just sit down and pull my blanket over my head again.

What is Orlando?

Imagine my life is an airplane. Attachment problems are the ocean I’m flying over. Orlando is my combination cushion/floatation device. It’s got my ass keeping me comfortable when things are going smoothly, but if I crash, then it’s my flotation device. As long as I’ve got Orlando I might go down, but I won’t go under.

I’m not ready to talk about the people this year, the experience, the change in my heart, the way that I feel like I can breath again because right now I’m just hugging Orlando tightly to my chest. I’m not ready to share yet. I’m just happy and thankful and ready for 2013.

Open Mouth Insert Foot

I was flying back from Orland0 (sob, cry, weep, gnash teeth) and what I wanted to do was sit down and read my book. There was much drama on my way back home mainly due to a confusion that apparently I don’t  know the days of the week. (Yes, homeschool is going great, thanks for asking….) At any rate, I reached my seat on the plane after nine hours of being completely flustered. I had my book in my hand, I’m squishing myself in the middle seat, and I just want to read my book and give breathing a try.

Not the lady next to me. She wanted to talk, and not just chit chat, she wanted to GET.TO.KNOW each other. I realized that we were having a deep conversation when I learned not just her daughter’s first and middle name and who she was named after, but also when she started her period. I kid you not.

So then we start talking about my kids and I can play that game for awhile. My kids are little and cute and I only have a million pictures and two million stories to go along with every situation. My daughter is actually adopted (did ya know?) and that came up in conversation and ERRRRRRRRRGH! (that’s the sound of screeching brakes) now we had something else to talk about beside her daughter’s menstrual cycle.

She knows “a friend of a friend of a friend” and that’s generally the first clue that whatever they say next has the possibility to be exciting. (snort)

I was explaining that Boohoo was 2ish when we brought her home and she says, “Two? Oh, so she has a birth mother then?” The lesson learned here is that if you are adopted before the age of two then you have probably popped up from the grass like a daisy. No birth required.

Here was the winner though. She asked if I just left them for the weekend to hit the beach, which sounds like a hella good idea, but there really is much more substance to Orlando than just relaxing (no many how many margaritas are consumed). I try to briefly BRIEFLY explain trauma and adoption because oh my gosh, I just want to read my book! Or isn’t there a seatbelt demonstration to watch? Shouldn’t someone be asking me if I want tomato juice, soda, or a coffee?

Clearly, whatever my explanation of trauma was it was wholly insufficient and she wasn’t feeling imaginative enough to be able to connect the dots as to what would be traumatizing about adoption. (I don’t know, maybe I’m just so thoroughly immersed these days all I see is the trauma…) But we needed to keep talking this through, in her opinion.

“Trauma? I guess it’s just that bad to be from Ethiopia, right?”

And now I’m writing this post from jail because I may have temporarily gone insane, assaulted her, and been hauled off the plane that I worked so hard to get onto by a burly air marshal. Well, that’s how it went in my head.

In reality, I did one of the faces that I use on my children that stops my eyes from popping out of my head. It’s a very very slow blink with a deep breath before I open my eyes again. Usually, by the time I’ve got my eyes open my children have scattered, but she was still sitting there. Just sitting there assuming that being from Ethiopia, being Ethiopian, is a reason to be traumatized. And I really wasn’t trying to be a snot, but come on people! Could we just be a little less small-minded and ignorant than that?

I told her no. Ethiopia was beautiful. Is it a struggling country, sure, but it’s a wonderful place and I’d love to go back someday. My daughter’s trauma is because she had to leave Ethiopia! Her trauma is that she had to leave her mother! Her trauma was poverty like we can’t imagine living with as we sit on a plane to fly us around our vacation destinations. Her trauma is not Ethiopia. Her trauma is adoption.

We didn’t talk a lot after that. I started reading. I watched a seatbelt demonstration. I drank nasty airplane coffee. I wasn’t angry. I was a little offended on behalf of my daughter and Ethiopia. I hope I wasn’t rude. I think I was shocked that there is so little awareness about adoption that people will assume it was the country of her mother and not the loss of her mother that has broken her little heart. There’s a lot of educating to be done!