I’ve been waiting on myself to begin. I knew it was time to get back to this and I knew it was time for a shift. I shut down the old blog, bought a new name, and created a new site. A new chapter. But how to begin, Becca, how to start. The pressure. Y’all are like,...
My mom died on April 1, just a little over two weeks ago. I don’t know which cliché to use – does it feel like yesterday or years? Both, I guess. My mom was a young 74 and did all the healthy things – the exercising, the kale, the vitamins, the check-ups. I look like...
Well, it had to come. Some of you readers have been with me for a while now. You’ve read these random blogs and followed along on Facebook as Jax came home from China, was diagnosed with all the things, and proceeded to grow up into a teenage boy. He’s gone from...
So we’re homeschooling over here. It’s going really well, I’d say. We have great people, Jax’s anxiety is at an all-time low, he’s happy, he’s inquisitive, and importantly, he’s learning things that are relevant to his 14 year-old-life and skills he’ll use for his...
I have sucked as a parent lately. Truth. 'Tis the season for holiday lights and wrapping paper and for mom to be a stressed out asshole. That should be a Christmas carol. “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the waaayyyyy. My mom’s annoyed at everyone, please bring...
Dear Jax,It's Gotcha Day, little dude. We adopted you eleven years ago today. I love this day, but this year's celebration is bittersweet. Your grandmother died on Friday night. Your dad's mom, Grandma Mary. This year's Gotcha Day will be a little less inflatable...
Johnny made it to his Army base on Monday. Other moms are messaging me tips to survive boot camp, linking me to Facebook groups, introducing me to people who can show me the ropes. It's lovely, but I’m in a different sort of situation. “Hi Martha with your...
A day or two ago, Jax had an appointment with a psychiatrist. Jax has never met this man before, but I have, and I like him a lot. He regurgitates mountains of stuff from memory, has a Harvard degree, and is smart, smart, smart. All good stuff when you’re a mom...
Johnny, I've been down at the Capitol this past week fighting for a bill that would expedite the adoption of older kids. I'm pretty invested in it because you and I went through this. We had nine months to make your adoption happen, and had I not already had a giant...
And I quote: "And after fourteen years of foster care, Johnny was getting all As and Bs in school, happily helping around the house, had checking and savings accounts, and looking for his first job - all within just a few months of being adopted into a family. "...
I've spent the last few days outlining an open letter to the person who hurt Jax. A real doozy of a piece, cleverly called "Dear Person Who Hurt My Child." I was going to write and publish it this morning, throw it all out there and let the internet lovelies react to...
The adult who hurt my son will not be charged. I'm a lawyer. I get it. There are no witnesses, no physical evidence, and Jax ...well, Jax isn't the best witness. At 13, Jax still believes that Noelle the Naughty Elf stole my car keys and tried to take my...
I am a Helicopter Mom. No shame here, no self-deprecating humor, there is really no other option for this child tornado of mine. Maybe helicopter isn't the right word, I think I'm more like the car with the flashing lights that travels behind the Wide Load truck on...
I was coming out of an Ace Hardware the other day - feeling super handy, I might add - and on the way to my car, I saw a woman standing by a table raising money. It was a legit 100-gazillion degrees in Phoenix and I was entirely prepared to do the polite smile...
I was sick this week. Throwing up throughout the night, curled up in fetal position at the base of the toilet, not sure how clean the bath mat is, I do not even care, I will never eat blue cheese in a salad again, SICK. Being sick as an adult is lousy. Being sick as a...
Dear Johnny, I know this isn't where you thought you would be at age 17. Still in the foster system, a day pass on your birthday, preparing to be shuffled around again, and then again and again. I know. As a child, you must have thought ahead to 17 and pictured your...
Last week, a family asked about adopting my foster son, Johnny. A family. Adoption. This was a big deal for a sixteen year old foster kid who moved in with me last month because he had nowhere else to go and had every intention of aging out of the system as an orphan....
I had a moment recently. My son, Jax, and I had been in the car running errands for a few hours. I was singing along to the Beatles channel when Jax said, "Mom, I'm hungry." Well, yeah, breakfast was a hurried cup of yogurt three hours ago so that's reasonable....
A teenage boy is coming to live with me. Today. In eight hours, I will be an official foster parent. It's been only a few months, but I have notes upon notes about my short experience so far with this child welfare system of ours. I can't wrap my head around how we...
Last week, I was in my favorite place in the world with my 15-person family. Every few years, we head to a ranch in the mountains of Colorado. We've been going here since I was a little girl, and there is truly no place I would rather be. I told my clients I was out,...
I volunteered to go to an education meeting last week with a foster kid. This kid was in high school and not too interested in me at first. I didn't blame him, I'd never met him before and this was a child who lives in a constantly-changing world with...
It was late-September of 2008 when we brought my son home from China, just two months before December and our sparkly, over-the-top, American-style Christmas season. My little boy had no idea what Christmas was. He had no idea who Santa was. Hell,...
This time of year, man. It’s stressful and chaotic and my annual intention of providing a Pinterest-perfect Christmas lasts about a day and a half until I decide that F-bombs will definitely help me assemble the gingerbread house. Ahhh, December. This year, the...
Jax’s eighth Gotcha Day is coming up. “Gotcha Day” is the anniversary of Jax’s adoption from China. It’s the day Jax became our son, and like good adoptive parents, we celebrate. Jax gets a few presents, we decorate, we eat pizza and cake, we participate in general...
I was at a Ross the other day. I love Ross. There is one by my son's school, and on the days I don't feel like laptopping at Starbucks, I walk around in their exceptional summer air conditioning while having riveting conversations with myself about my need for their...
My son is a quirky kid. He talks about airplanes 99% of the time, he doesn’t like video games, and his natural energy level makes hiding the sugar products on the top shelf of the pantry a necessity. He has cleft scars that make his lip a little puffy, his speech isn’t always clear, and he lacks the ability to discern whether the kids around him are enjoying his antics or looking for an escape hatch. His Chinese, stick-straight hair is usually sticking up somewhere on his head, he is not concerned at all about his volume, and he is not persuaded by what other kids think is cool.
My kid can be a blast, a refreshing breath of energetic air.
But he’s different.
We’ve had a lot of therapy over the years. Recently, his behavioral therapists and I tweaked his program to focus almost completely on social interaction. Executive functioning is handy, typing is a solid skill, but connecting with other kids will improve his quality of life. My son wants friends.
A few times a week, my son, his therapists and I go to a park near my house. I live in Central Phoenix, which is a diverse area. Less than a mile east from my modest ranch home are multi-million dollar estates that celebrities rent for golf vacations. A mile or two in the other direction is a cluster of apartments where whirling police lights in the parking lot are a regular occurrence. The nearby park we frequent has all walks of life: retired power-walkers, baby boot-campers, dog people, panhandlers, frisbee golfers, black kids, white kids, Hispanic kids, my Chinese kid.
In therapy sessions at home, we teach my son the rules of social interaction he doesn’t naturally pick up. For example, “Hi, I’m Jax, what’s your name?” is way more likely to result in a play date than “AHHHHHH!! I AM A B-29 BOMBER PILOT YOU ARE THE ENEMY FOLLOW ME WE ARE PLAYING YOU ARE THE BAD GUY LET’S GO!!!” He’s getting it. We script, we role-play, we practice. Then we go to the park and 3-2-1 action.
“Hi, I’m Jax, what’s your name?”
“Mike.”
“Hi Mike, want to play with me?”
I always know if Mike (or Ben or José or Molly) will play. I can tell by looking at them. I can tell by their clothes, their shoes, their hair, their backpack, the toys they brought to the park.
The wealthy kids never play. Never.
Am I making judgments based on appearance? Maybe. But mostly I’m telling you what I observe, what I watch, what I see first-hand all the time. Mike in head-to-toe Under Armor and $100 tennis shoes and Molly with the Vera Bradley backpack and Tori Burch sandals get uncomfortable when my son introduces himself. They aren’t rude, in fact they are usually very polite as they, every single time, say “no thank you” to my son’s invitation.
Moms to these kids, I write this with no judgment whatsoever. I mean that. If fate hadn’t pulled me to China and sent me home with a special needs son, I would be you, my kid would be your kid.
Sometimes I feel like Goldie Hawn in Overboard. Remember that movie? I don’t have a yacht or a butler and I don’t wear puffy-sleeved, balloon-skirt cocktail dresses to dinner, but you get it. I’m a white woman with a law degree, an SUV and a yard guy. I wear yoga pants and sip my coconut milk latte from Whole Foods at the park, too.
Remember, in Overboard, when Andrew the butler said this to Joanna / Goldie?
“Most of us go through life with blinders on. Knowing only that little station to which we were born. But you madam, have had the… rare privilege of escaping your bonds for just a spell. To see life from an entirely new perspective.”
I was pulled out of the comfort of my life by my child so hard I had whiplash, but now, years later and happy to be exactly where I am, I get to sit back and observe a world to which I wouldn’t have been privy, a world I wouldn’t have even noticed. My blinders aren’t completely off, but I’m able to peek over the top. What I see, time and time again, is that the privileged kids are scared of what is different.
I always know if Mike (or Ben or José or Molly) will play. I can tell by looking at them. I can tell by their clothes, their shoes, their hair, their backpack, the toys they brought to the park.
The wealthy kids never play. Never.
To the Moms I Am Not, But Was Supposed to Be,
I am not writing this to protect my son or encourage you to teach your kids about disabilities or saving other people’s feelings. The glory of my son is that he doesn’t care. Your kid’s “no thank you” doesn’t phase him at all, he runs to the next kid. The next kid is wearing shorts that are too short to be fashionable, the sole of his shoe is falling off, and his hair is too long and hangs in his eyes. The next kid didn’t bring a hoverboard, but a broken pail and two cracked fishing bobbers. The next kid always says, “YEAH, let’s play!” and he and my son run and laugh and yell and are utterly child-like.
I am writing this because while my son plays, my eyes sometimes wander back to your kids. Your young, impressionable, sweet and understandably sheltered children stand off to the side by themselves…or with others who look exactly like them. I think they want to play. I think, because we live in a scary world and you have the luxury of constant vigilance, their comfort zones have shrunk to the size of a dime. I think they’re missing out. Different isn’t scary, especially not when it comes in the many forms of children.
My kid is going to keep asking your kids to play. I hope they start saying yes.
Sincerely,
Becca
Funny how thing don’t ever turn out how we expected but somehow they still turn our amazingly well. I feel so lucky to have my kids, quirks and all.
Funny how thing don’t ever turn out how we expected but somehow they still turn our amazingly well. I feel so lucky to have my kids, quirks and all.
Very nice post! To see life from an entirely new perspective. Thank You!
Very nice post! To see life from an entirely new perspective. Thank You!
Love it! This IS us too. A gift to me is that like your son, it doesn’t phase my son at all and he moves on. He is super fun and they’re missing out!
Love it! This IS us too. A gift to me is that like your son, it doesn’t phase my son at all and he moves on. He is super fun and they’re missing out!
Preach it honey. These same moms treat other playground moms in that same standoffish manner, and they are raising another generation of classist entitled snobs. Because you are gracious, you did not judge them, but I do. Not because of who they are, but what they do (or don’t), and their misguided values. And they disgust me. I love this post, and I hope it goes viral. Scary Mommy, Huffington Post come get this!
Preach it honey. These same moms treat other playground moms in that same standoffish manner, and they are raising another generation of classist entitled snobs. Because you are gracious, you did not judge them, but I do. Not because of who they are, but what they do (or don’t), and their misguided values. And they disgust me. I love this post, and I hope it goes viral. Scary Mommy, Huffington Post come get this!
Or maybe the other parents are shy, socially anxious, exhausted, depressed or in the midst of coping with a loved one’s death. (Me? I’m not elitist or classist, but am emphatically NOT a people person).
Other kids, wealthy or not, are not obligated to play with your son. They’re just not.
Maybe the other kids your child approaches who decline his friendly advances are simply shy, tired, anxious, exhausted or simply not interested. It doesn’t make them bad kids – nor the parents who raised them
Bad Parents!
agreed!
To clarify, I never ever said bad kids. Come on over to my park. We’ll watch together 😉
Other kids, wealthy or not, are not obligated to play with your son. They’re just not.
Maybe the other kids your child approaches who decline his friendly advances are simply shy, tired, anxious, exhausted or simply not interested. It doesn’t make them bad kids – nor the parents who raised them
Bad Parents!
agreed!
To clarify, I never ever said bad kids. Come on over to my park. We’ll watch together 😉
Too good post… What an observation. Claps and kudos to you:)
Too good post… What an observation. Claps and kudos to you:)
Becca, there is nothing wrong at all with unbridled enthusiasm for play, especially in a park. Those kids were secretly jealous. I keep thinking of Tom Hanks in “Big” about the kid who grew up in size, but was still a kid. Keith
Becca, there is nothing wrong at all with unbridled enthusiasm for play, especially in a park. Those kids were secretly jealous. I keep thinking of Tom Hanks in “Big” about the kid who grew up in size, but was still a kid. Keith
Really nice observation..All kids are same in this age..Play is all they want..Nice Post..Love it
Really nice observation..All kids are same in this age..Play is all they want..Nice Post..Love it
Children are a joy to watch and experience, little flowers growing out of the earth, you shouldn’t need to have a template mom in place to become one, beautiful post, thank you for sharing.
Children are a joy to watch and experience, little flowers growing out of the earth, you shouldn’t need to have a template mom in place to become one, beautiful post, thank you for sharing.
Amei!
Amei!
you story similar to my story at home. he is 4year this 2016. thank for sharing.
you story similar to my story at home. he is 4year this 2016. thank for sharing.