There’s that saying about nailing Jell-o to a wall….

Posted on April 21, 2013 by middleofthemadness

“I am jello.”

That’s my newest mantra….in the scheme of constantly changing parenting mantras. Hey, at least I can temporarily find something to cling to.

This one has been working this week. I learned it from a saint of a friend who has 4 young boys – all within 6 months of the span of my boys’ ages. So whenever I think I have it bad or that I’m having a rough day, all I have to do is say “at least I only have THREE boys!”

The concept of “jello” is that it doesn’t stick to you. So when you start an “engagement” with a child (euphemism for an escalation of emotions), you remember that you have your own emotions and do not have to take on those of the child. Be jello – don’t let their emotions stick to you.

This is in stark contrast to my usual mode of engagement – volcanic eruption! So I thought the jello thing might be worth a try.

Monday was strawberry jello. Micah jumped right into one of his typical morning infractions – full-body slam of one of the younger crew – usually either Ryan or Noah. I suggested that he take a break on the stairs (or you could call it a “time out”). He took his cup of strawberry milk with him and for the next 3-4 minutes sat on the bottom step taking a swig of milk and spewing it happily across the hard wood floors. I stood one room away in the kitchen door frame saying to myself, “jello”….. “jello” …… “not volcano….jello.” I wet a few rags, walked over to Micah and suggested that whenever he was ready, he could clean up.

Score one for Mommy Jello Queen!

Tuesday was lime jello….as in the color of the “Micah broke the stained glass window” text that I received as he and I pulled into the driveway. Apparently, that morning after I left early for a meeting, he and his aunt got into an engagement – likely for a reason very similar to Monday morning = full body contact! So I sat him down on the couch and “jello,” suggested that he tell me what his punishment/consequence was going to be. I rejected the 100 push-ups idea (he can’t even do 2) and accepted the 6-weeks of no TV….begudgingly….because that really just means 6 weeks of punishing me!

Score two for Jello Queen!

The orange jello of the Cheez-it eruption was just not quite as successful. Probably because I was tired and grumpy and he was tired and grumpy and I didn’t feel like repeating “mushin” (the martial arts word for controlled mind) to him or “jello” to me! Instead we had Cheez-it lava spewing throughout the kitchen and hallway floors and eventually the dust-buster was pulled out for this “when you’re ready, clean up” mess.

So, I’m 2 for 1….which is very important to Micah’s competitive brain (even though he doesn’t know my jello trick so the competitive aspect is not quite so fun). Maybe we’ll have to keep seeing how many colors of the jello rainbow we can be!

Visit from our first foster child!

Posted on April 15, 2013 by middleofthemadness

I don’t know how you’re supposed to get anything done with 5 kids around. I don’t know why I ever expect to. I keep thinking that weekends should be “productive”….and then I’m in the middle of one and just hoping to survive!

I keep reminding myself that with five swirling storms, it’s pretty unlikely that I might sweep a floor or mop the kitchen. I mean, why even try? So this weekend, we decided to up the ante and try having 6 boys around – 8, 6, 6, 4, 2, 1!

Maddox, our first foster boy and now 8, spent the weekend with us while his adoptive parents were out of town. I remember the day I went to pick him up when we first met him. I had been thinking in my head “hmmmm, an almost 1 year old – how bad can that be?” I opened the door and he was running around his aunt’s house with a bottle hanging from his teeth….and I knew right then he was going to be one active boy. He was a delight while he stayed with us.

He also showed us the classic case of foster parenting. He stayed with us for 10 months and then returned to his biological mother. A few months later, she would stress out and turn to drugs for comfort and he would be placed into foster care. After 10-12 months, he returned to his mother and months later, he and his sister came into our care (that’s when we lived for about 8 months with one 3-year-old and 3 one-year-olds! And I’m complaining now about being busy??). Again, the mother worked to get her kids back….again she lost them….but this time they were older and starting to act out themselves in more serious ways….and eventually were placed in “therapeutic foster homes.” (It is this first foster family that popped into my head the moment I heard the concept of a crisis nursery – and thought that the biological mother just needed a crisis nursery – some place to take the kids for 2-3 days so that she could breathe and get things done…..and so began my quest to open Jeremiah’s Place).

It was hard to “lose” Maddox three years ago. It was hard to understand how a judge would decide to take this boy from his “biological” mother and the woman he thought was his “mother” (my sister) and place him with his 4^th family in 4 years. And at the time, we had no idea what the future held….so it was amazing that as soon as he was adopted, the forever mother called to reconnect with Kathy and so began some visitations and then this weekend.

Over the past 2 years or so, Micah and Ryan have talked a lot about Maddox. They remember him and they also remember an idealized version of an “older brother.” This weekend was not anywhere close to an idealized existence as they all had to figure out how to share space and attention and the iPad and the rooms and the Wii remotes and the younger two boys who thought this strange new being was a super hero of some sort.

And Noah just walked around asking, “What’s his name again?”

Foster parenting asks you to hold a kids’ heart in yours so tightly for an unknown period of time and then let the child loose into the world without possibly ever knowing anything about him/her again. But sometimes….sometimes you have the joy of loving them again.

Top 10 Reasons that my boys like to live in our old house

Posted on April 7, 2013 by middleofthemadness

No one really knows for sure how old this house is. It’s been a great place to live for the past nine years, but it’s time to move to a better school district. There are a few things the boys will miss about this place though. Here are probably ones that are in the Top Ten although there are plenty more!

10 The hardwood floors lend for delightful full body sliding.

9 The stuff on the wall seems to pull off in long flat pieces if you find a tiny bit sticking up….and since Auntie always said she didn’t like that pattern anyway….

8 There is a running loop on the first floor which yields endless hours of happy (and sometimes not so happy) chasing of each other (kids and moms).

7 The leaky roof of the garage sends water spilling along the corner which forms icicles in the winter. These can be knocked down and eaten (though chucking the ball into the glass window while attempting to get the ice didn’t make “someone” very happy….).

6 There are warm perches under most windows which apparently should not be considered as seats despite how enticing it is to warm one’s bottom while watching the cars go by. Maybe if you turned the thermostat above 64, we wouldn’t need these built in tushy-warmers!

5 There is a back staircase so you can sneak down that and into the dining room to grab a snack when Mom thinks you’re still in “time out” upstairs.

4 Apparently there are these flat wide open areas called “mantles” but they seem to be more like ledges from which SpiderMan might pounce.

3 The chute is the coolest thing ever – you can drop clothes down to the basement like you’re supposed to….but you can also drop down toys, cups, the body wash bottle, toothbrushes, pretty much anything you can get your hands on – though brothers appear to be banned. Mom particularly loves it when you throw a diaper down which then gets swept into the washer without notice and thereby leaves annoying plastic pellets upon all the “clean” clothes!

2 They actually put glass windows on “ground level” that open into the basement. If you’re curious, it does shatter nicely when kicked ever so gently.

And the Number 1 reason boys like to live in an old house….

The best thing of all is on the very top floor….there’s a hole no bigger than two hands across….and no one knows where it goes…. It’s so mysterious that anything you drop down there does not make a sound….and never ever r e t u r n s…..

Holiday exhaustion

Posted on March 31, 2013 by middleofthemadness

I’m not really sure what I’m doing awake right now (other than typing this) – because it’s a late, late 10:20pm and last night I was fast asleep by this time. I don’t really think I should be so tired – I mean, I’ve been getting a good 8 hours of sleep at night – oh no, wait, that is really a lie. How can it be good sleep when the 70-pound gorilla climbs in by midnight, blocking my ability to lie on my right side? (Well I could lie on my right but that risks getting my face hit once or twice throughout the night by a flailing arm.) And then, by 2 or 3 or even as late as 4:00 am, the curly-headed one patters up to the bed with his worn-out “blue blankie” and stands there breathing softly until I open an eye, squish the gorilla over as far as I possibly can to the right, and welcome “little man” on the left into the bed as well. Then for the next couple hours, I wake up intermittently wondering if I can still breathe….wondering if my arm is wet from sweat or if there was a pull-up malfunction on either side….wondering if it could please, please be time to get up because my back is killing me and I would like to just stretch a little bit. So…..even if it’s a good 8 hours in bed….it’s rarely a “good” 8 hours of sleep!

But most of my tiredness is the whole holiday weekend. There’s nothing like sugar and fun and anticipation and sugar and friends coming over and sugar and shorter naps and later nights and sugar to really throw everyone off. I saw this photo on the “Proud Pretty much sums it up! Single Mother” Facebook page the other day and it made me smile. Sometimes I really feel this way – it’s been a long week at work, I can’t wait for Friday and a break….and then I remember….I’m a mom – the weekends are usually busier than the week – it’s 24/7 kids!

Weekends are also the time when it hits you that you’re “single” mom and that all the care of the kids falls on me. There’s no break from them from 6 am when the gorilla rolls over until 9 pm when the curly dude finally crashes. And when I spontaneously decide to do something – like take the boys down to an Easter Egg Hunt at my “home” church in Waynesburg – it’s all me (well, me and the very nice DVD player in the van!). And when the doors open and a hundred kids are all set free upon the lawn, it’s just my set of eyes on them. My thought? — “yep, there they go! I’m just going to trust the volunteers around the perimeter that they’ll block any attempts of my guys to escape onto the streets!” And we all did fine with only one panic moment when I couldn’t find Noah for all of about one (very long) minute! Fortunately, Seth’s runs were more like take 10 steps forward, trip on something and spill eggs out of basket, stand up and place eggs back in basket, start running forward ten steps…trip…..repeat.

I wasn’t the only one tired out. Micah had plenty of gross motor play – tackle football, wrestling, egg hunt after egg hunt. He does very well while engaged, but has had some nice meltdowns in the car as we transition from one excitement to the next. This morning’s fit of taking off his seatbelt and spraying apple juice around the back of the van resulted in 90 minutes of “quiet time upstairs” once we got home this afternoon. For the first time, there was not a complaint out of him – no “how much longer?”….no sneaking downstairs to devise something he just had to tell me….no begging for TV. Clearly he was ready for a break. And Noah was ready to play alone with his new toys and Seth was asleep within seconds of being put into his crib tonight.

Check. Holiday weekend done. Thank goodness it’s Monday tomorrow :).

Saving the world

Posted on March 25, 2013 by middleofthemadness

I’ve seen a few “writings” in the past couple weeks about “What I Should Teach My Son” or “What every Girl Needs to Know”….or more along those lines of what’s the right/best/perfect way to raise your children. It stems from the recent stories of violence particularly in our teens. I know these articles have valid points and there’s probably a couple more really good parenting books I could go read.

But it’s had me thinking a bit about what I “need” to do to raise my three sons.

First, of course, it would help if I knew how to tie a tie. I hope there’s a YouTube video out there somewhere to teach them how to shave (because I already see a bit of hair on Micah’s upper lip and that’s a bit disconcerting so early). There better be a guide to understanding their blossoming humor (other than acknowledging that most of it stems from body parts or the bathroom). I could use “A Boy’s Guide to Obnoxious Noises” and “How to satisfy your teen’s voracious appetite.”

But when it comes down to it – what I most want to teach my sons is exactly what I would teach a daughter if I had one….and that is – how to be a Superhero!

What is it about a Superhero? Well, they’re amazing. Incredible powers – they’re strong, they can fly, they can make water turn to ice, they can run super fast….they’re “so cool.” But they are also totally compassionate. They spend their day helping people. Hmmm, all that power and what are they doing? Saving people. Repairing buildings. Fixing roads.

I want my sons to have the feeling that they can save the world – and the heart that makes them want to. So if I see them just once, if ever so briefly, be a Superhero – I will be very happy.

Mommy Caps (for sale)

Posted on March 16, 2013 by middleofthemadness

I don’t wear hats. I don’t have a this-hat-fits-nicely head. But I wear many (way too many hats) in my work and in my life. I’m that sales(wo)man in “Caps for Sale” with a whole stack of caps on my head. But unlike him – some days I’d love for the monkeys to steal all my caps and just leave me sleeping soundly under the tree.

Work hats aside, there are plenty of “mommy” hats for me.

There’s the Mean mommy. I’m the one that makes the boys pick their clothes off the floor and put them in the hamper….and then come back and get that forlorn sock that escaped and put it in the hamper too. That’s the mildest form of Mean Mommy – I come in raging-lava, steaming-head form too.

Fortunately, mean mommy is often countered by Loving mommy. Somehow the phrase “give me lovings” has entered the house and it means, “Mommy, I’m hurt/sad/scared ….and just need a hug” or long to still be able to fit on your lap since I’m only 6, though over half your body weight. “Lovings” are good. Lovings are safe and healing.

There’s also the I’m very tired mommy. She’s the one that is not handling the time change well because her “night owl” body clock is fighting the Spring Ahead while still having to rise at a most awful early morning hour. This Mommy snaps at the slightest thing, like wanting to play with the “bestest mask ever” that I made in daycare two months ago and just sighted in your office and had forgotten about but would now really like to play with despite you yammering on and on something about “no, it’s time for bed.”

Very closely related is the I had a very long day at work mommy who would do just about anything to have 10 minutes to herself when walking in the door, but since she picked up one boy one the way home from work and is anticipating the hungry cries of two other boys about to enter the door, she just moves into the “I’m very tired mommy” mode.

One of the best is the Playful Mommy. She’s “awesome,” she’s “cool,” she’s “the bestest ever.” I like this mommy personally. I’d like to spend a bit more time with her. She wrestles, she plays hide-and-seek even though she hates the game, she throws footballs in the living room and chases you around the inner running track lanes of the house. She’s just so much fun, but too often pushed aside by those other mommies and just not around as much as some poor guys would like.

Naturally, there’s also

The Chauffer Mommy – which lesson, game, sport, school, playground are we going to today, my dear?

The Chief Cook and Bottle Washer Mommy – You will not have chicken nuggets for dinner again, my young jedi, despite your wily mind-trick attempts.

The Shopping Mommy – bread, milk, chicken nuggets, pull-ups, chicken nuggets, little mocha for me, chicken nuggets…

The Dreamily Romantic Mommy – my how beautiful and angelic they are….so peaceful….so asleep… so….whoa! what’s that smell?….aw, Seth, not again!!

This week though, we’ve been visited by the Sad Mommy whose heart is heavy with news of a missionary family who just lost their precious toddler daughter after being in Kenya for only five weeks. And I look at my boys and I think – how could I ever handle losing one of them? How could you cope with the what-ifs – what if I had done something different? So I become the scared mommy….the protective mommy….the quiet mommy… the oh-my-goodness-life-is-so-fragile mommy.

And I realize I have what I have today and only today. A boy who beams with pride for finally receiving his martial arts gi, a squirrely sprite whose eyes twinkle as he flies off the edge of the couch into my arms, and a huggable little elf wrapping himself around my leg. My three sons.

Hold them tight – no matter which cap is on the head.

Martial Arts and the “Real-Time” Mothering Failure

Posted on March 8, 2013 by middleofthemadness

I have decided that “real-time” parenting is just too difficult. I would like a playback reel, a coach….maybe the SuperNanny. I mean, if split-second decision making was in line with my personality, I would have become an emergency room doc, not a primary care physician who sends the sick ones off to the hospital.

And I’m pretty sure that Micah is going to be the one kid that I never figure out – and therefore keep making bad in-the-moment decisions. We worked hard the past couple weeks on a “star chart” to earn his gi uniform for Martial Arts class. I was impressed –

The star chart…apparently got a little crumpled in my rant???

we’ve never had a behavioral chart work before. He actually brushed his teeth in the morning. He put on his clothes without being asked. When he did a really kind thing (rare….but happened) to one of his brothers, he would look up at me with a great smile – and I would nod – and he’d run to the fridge and put a star on the chart. It was idyllic. So you know what that means.

We talked for days about finally getting the uniform at class on Wednesday. I even brought my big camera along. I was ready to be so proud. Yet, I strode out of the building in silence in front of him thirty minutes later….fuming and emotionally choked up with sadness.

He wouldn’t get out on the mat. He clung to my arm. He pretended like he was going to decide to out and join the class. The teachers cajoled him. I urged him. My friend encouraged him. But finally, I declared “you know, I would rather spend time with Noah and Seth and get to put Seth to bed, then to sit on this couch here with you.” And off we went.

I gave myself plenty of good pats on the back for remaining calm….and then Dragon Mommy reared her head the moment we were in the sound proof car! “What do you mean you don’t want to go to class? What was that all about? You worked so hard to earn your uniform and then you just sat there? What’s going on? What are you doing?!?” Now any parenting book will tell you that this method is 100% guaranteed to fail…..and I know that 100% as I talk….but it’s definitely more for my benefit to ramble on because clearly he’s not listening to me….until my rant turns to “I’m not going to pay money to sit there on a couch! I’m not going to pay money to sit around for flag football or soccer if this is what it’s going to be.” Huh – had no idea that was such a powerful phrase. Mentioning his favorite sports sure got his attention.

Yes, not so proud of that moment. Frustration makes you do crazy things. I was ready to be proud of Micah. He was not ready for the excitement. I wasn’t ready to see that he was not ready. This kid is so complex, I go nuts trying to think through the psychology of it all (….afterwards ….). I think I get one piece figured out, he pulls out something else. I just don’t keep up so well in the real-time with him.

But still.

I was ready to be proud of you. And you blew it. You see, it’s all about me.

Me trying to figure you out.

Me wondering why you hide so much behind my skirt (which would make sense as a saying if I actually wore skirts).

Wondering how much do I push?

How much do I wait for you?

How do I encourage you?

How do I build your confidence but not self-centeredness?

How do we dance the joy of morning snow forts amidst the clash of evening wills?

How do we navigate the still waters and the crashing waves?

You push and I pull.

You pull and I push.

We win. We lose.

I haven’t figured this out yet….but I’m still here….for the next round.

4 year-olds’ Bestest Day Ever

Posted on March 2, 2013 by middleofthemadness

Hurricane Simulator
Why?!?

I was at a conference in Florida last year and just had to grab a picture of this “opportunity” when we walked past it in the middle of a small mall. I mean, really, who would want to get into a “hurricane simulator”? I feel like my life is a hurricane half the time (or possibly much more than half the time). I think I’m in current need of a “boredom simulator” or at least a “sleep simulator.”

Fortunately, this week was a bit of a slow-down compared to the past month. With my brother giving the example of taking off work on each of his (Eight!) children’s birthdays (and spending the day as a family), I began years ago with my boys to spend their birthday with them. Micah calls it “my I can do whatever I want day” and I keep correcting him that “Mommy still has veto power.”

So Monday was Noah’s day and I can’t even begin to describe how nice it is to be attending to just one boy at a time. And it was beautiful to not have to rush to get anywhere but to follow his lead. No real agenda – other than me getting coffee, of course. Since he wanted coffee cake from Panera, we went there….and even sat down to eat. He thought that was “awesome.”

His chosen “event” for the day was to go ice-skating and he was giddy with excitement. I almost blew any chance of having a future Olympic skater, though. At first, he was given hockey skates that were too “slippy” for him and he couldn’t move a foot. Then he fell and bloodied his nose – and I had no tissue or anything with me on the ice….and resorted to the inner lining of his coat (I should probably wash that thing!). By this point, I’m berating myself for not being better prepared as a parent and having a helmet on his head, when he yells his foot is hurting because he had on two “right foot” skates. Sigh – eventually we got sorted out and had a nice time. I even woke him up on the way home to make him eat ice cream…teeth-chattering in 40 degree temps, face smeared with “Chocoholic chocolate chunk” and hands beyond the worst definition of sticky! Good mommy.

Though the main part of the day seemed to flow well, I just felt like I was doing a lousy job. Kathy and I always have helium balloons (one for every kid) in the living room on a birthday….and I awoke in bed that morning in panic realizing I had forgotten this (contemplating the lifelong trauma I was inflicting on him – “it all started when my mom forgot my birthday balloons….”). I also completely forgot to make a cake for the actual birthday, despite making two for his party two days before (“…and then no cake – no candles – no singing!!”). And I completely exploded at Micah at the dining room table and dragged him upstairs for a break from his incessant pestering and acting up. So in my nice little world of “perfect mothering” (of which I never attain), I was falling fast from my little pedestal. I was failing on one of the most important days of Noah’s year. And yet, he lay in bed that night and said “this is the bestest birthday ever, right?” I smiled and said “that’s right.” So who’s the better judge? And why can’t they stay forever four – when the “bestest day ever” is easy and uncomplicated?

And who volunteers to remind me that no matter how many mistakes I make in a day – sometimes, it’s still the “bestest ever”?

Celebrating the Foster-to-Adopt completion

Posted on February 25, 2013 by middleofthemadness

I’m not going to lie – parenting is exhausting…especially if you’re starting to get a cold (two weeks of wiping aside snot and I’m finally starting to succumb). So hosting a party of 15 boys (under the age of 9) and 2 girls was definitely tiring – and yet so much fun. Yesterday we had a party to celebrate Noah’s 4^th birthday and Seth’s adoption. This brought together the 17 kids for the birthday and about an equal number of adults for the adoption. Today I reflect on how wonderful it is to be surrounded by so many people who care about my boys and our family.

For many people, families and friends celebrate the birth of a child. Friends gather around the new baby and the beaming parents, visitors come and go (and people make you food!), and gifts pour in. Mothers stay home from work for some time (and it would be nice if we let fathers do so too)… cooing over how gorgeous the baby is, who he or she looks like, and “napping when the baby naps” (or at least that’s what people say they do!). It is very different when you adopt a child through the foster care system.

This week I have looked down at Seth every night as I plant a kiss on his forehead and say “goodnight, my son.” It is the first time that I’ve been able to call him my “son.” And it is the first time that I realize I can bond with him as my son. It is a very strange thing. As a foster parent, you are asked to “love the children as if they are your own” and yet to “keep your distance” as your job really is to hand them back to the biological parent (when at all possible).

So there’s this closeness of rocking them to sleep every night, and this guarding of your heart in preparation of possibly losing them. You pick them up when they fall and kiss the “boo-boo,” and wonder how long they will still be in your house. You bounce them and tickle them. You praise their every milestone as they grow. You hold their hand and protect them. You take them to day care and pick them up. You take them to doctor appointments, you sit and pray over them as they recover from surgery, you worry about every cold or fever or wheeze. You ache, you agonize, you cry, you comfort….you love. You know the baby needs a “mother” and you play the role of the “mother,” but you never know if you are the one who will be the forever mother. Until that very moment, years later, when a complete stranger in a black robe declares you to be the mother.

Then you sigh. Then you cry. Then you gather your friends and family around you and say “Celebrate with me. Sing with me. Dance with me….on the “birth” of my son.”

Micah – I met you May 22, 2006, and became your forever Mommy on February 26, 2008.

Noah – I met you Feb 27, 2009, and became your forever Mommy on February 23, 2010.

Seth – I met you on June 2, 2011, and became your forever Mommy on February 12, 2013.

Tonight I lay on Micah’s bed beside him as he snored and looked around the room at my sleeping family. My sons. Beautiful each one.

And I love each of them….

now with my whole heart.

The third beautiful brown boy…

Posted on February 15, 2013 by middleofthemadness

I have a book on my shelf (or the pile beside my bed) about transcultural (transracial) adoption. I should probably read it and feel a bit more informed rather than just mosey along merrily. But I don’t really feel like devoting the time to it right now (there always seems to be something more pressing).

But it actually is a real part of my life. I picked Micah up from school one day this week and he started asking questions about Martin Luther King, Jr. (it’s Black History Month). He was actually most interested in the facts about his death (and what’s the name of the man who shot him). But as we galloped down the stairway (he always says we’re racing, but then takes off first so I can’t pass him), he told me about a movie they

The boys after bath

watched in school. He started explaining that there are white people and black people and that the black people were not allowed to do anything like go to school or ride a bus. Out of extreme curiosity, I interrupted him and asked him, “Micah, are you white or black?” He stopped dead in his tracks on a second step down, looked at his arm, pointed to his brown skin and said without pausing “white,” and skipped on down the steps…”just like you are white.” I followed along with a smile and we continued the conversation about how many “important men” have been killed for standing up for “important issues.”

Driving home, I thought I might bring it up again. I said, “you know, Micah, you have absolutely beautiful brown skin because your birth mother was white and your birth father was black.” He replied, “I want to be white” and I responded that was absolutely fine. End of story for that day at least.

I was curious because this week, I added another brown little boy to my family (though his skin is the fairest of them all so far). Seth has officially changed his name and officially changed who he belongs to. He is no longer a “ward of the court.” He is a member of our family forever. Several friends joined us at the courthouse downtown to witness the ceremony. The three boys “allowed” me to dress them in dress shirts, vests, ties and slacks…which coordinated so well with their light-up sneakers (I haven’t bought dress shoes …seems a waste of money for one time wear!). They were gorgeous – until the pink and white cupcakes were served and I had to break out the baby wipes. And they were relatively well-behaved in the waiting area (a jurors waiting room) until the balloon-man arrived and equipped them with fencing swords.

As small streams of steam started to emerge from my ears and my voice started emitting at a lower octave, we were called back to the courtroom where we met the judge. The boys noisily took up the benches in the back as he introduced himself and I tried to keep a squirmy Seth on my lap. After answering a few boring legal questions, the judge read the “decree”…..that the child formerly known as KJE-G will “from this day forth and forever more be known as Seth…J…G…W….” Brings tears to my eyes. Those are some powerful words.

Naturally, I worry sometimes. Will I be able to be the best mom for these boys? Will I have the financial resources to care for them? Will I be able to cope if any of them develops significant behavioral or medical issues? Will I be able to keep teen girls away from the heart-throbs that these boys will become? Will I ever be able to keep enough food in the house? Will I be able to help them navigate the divide between black and white and develop a sense of pride in the beautiful brown children that they are and the incredible men that they will become?….

Love can. Welcome to our family Seth, my love.

middleofthemadness

Mothering – in the middle of the madness of boys!

Author Archives: middleofthemadness