Mom

Earlier today, my friend Kimberly wrote on her blog after a fairly long break from blogging: “More and more we are becoming a family with kids just like any other family with kids, which means this blog will be boring to anyone other than grandparents, relatives, and close friends.” She put into words exactly what I've been feeling as I've tried to get back into the regular habit of updating the Perfect Space. The last month, despite the chaos associated with the fact that we bought a house and moved, has been so smooth. Although it still feels a little unreal, I am starting to feel like I'm part of that family I envisioned when Brent and I first committed to adopting two kids under the age of eight nearly two years ago. I have no doubt that there won't be struggles ahead (the transition from school to summer break looms), but, for now and for the past several weeks, we've truly just existed as the Coranskis - a family with a Mommy, Daddy, Elsa, Ashagre, Buster, Lola and 9 girl chickens (as the kids refer to them).


This weekend Brent went on a camping trip with the boys while I stayed home with the kids. There were weeks not all that long ago, that the mere thought of parenting solo for three days would have instantly upped my personal stress level significantly. This weekend I actually looked forward to it. I made the decision to make it a weekend all about the kids. With the recent move, we have been asking them to entertain themselves quite a bit lately. Weekends and afternoons after school, rather than being dedicated to fun family activities, have been spent dismantling and re-building chicken coops, cleaning, and unpacking boxes while the kids play two-square (a full blown obsession among children at our kids' school right now) or ride their scooters in the driveway. In general, the kids have been great sports about the whole process, and rather than self-destructing into patterns of bad behavior in order to eliminate the anxiety they are feeling about not having our attention 100% of the time, they seem to be quite comfortable with their place in our hearts right now and have handled the whole move with a lot of maturity and flexibility. So, this weekend I pushed my own anxiety regarding the disorderly state of our home aside and spent Saturday at the park with the kids while they enjoyed a birthday party. On Sunday we went on an 8 mile bike ride (yes, Elsa pedaled her tiny little bike with a tiny little crank 8 miles) along the ocean, and after the bike ride we caught the new Madagascar movie. All three of us had a great time just enjoying the weekend and each other.

Saturday night while enjoying having our quiet new house all to myself after tucking the kids in bed, I had a realization. I'm not exactly sure when the transformation occurred, but I finally really enjoy being a mom. Now, please don't take this the wrong way. I've wanted to be Elsa and Ashagre's mom from the start, and I've been one hundred percent dedicated since the beginning, but going from no kids to two, a five year old and a six year old, overnight isn't something that you can fully internalize immediately (at least I couldn't). Over the past year I've beat myself up quite a bit over the fact that I didn't feel instantly like the mom I had envisioned myself to be. Internally there was a battle of sorts going on; the independent, career driven, selfish Dakota wasn't completely convinced she wanted to succumb to the title of mom, a title that felt embedded with obligations, sub-par work performance, and very little sense of self. I wrestled with it quite a bit; I've done some grieving and redefining and, finally, I'm proud to carry the title Mom and all that it entails.

What's Working For Us - Seeing the Forest When You're Surrounded by Trees

So Claudia over at My Fascinating Life has asked her readers to spread some positivity and write on What's Working For You. She puts together these link-ups from time to time which are quite fun to read. I've been lurking around My Fascinating Life for a while now and thought this would be a good opportunity to introduce myself. Claudia made the topic pretty open-ended; writers can write about anything that is working for them, kids or no kids. But, since this blog is about our family and since there is no me without my kids these days, I, of course will be writing about what's working for our little family of four. So here it goes.

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If I had to explain in one word the last year - the first year we became a family of four - I would use the word intense. Adoptive parenting (probably parenting of any sort, but I can't comment on that) is extremely intense. It's intensely challenging, intensely inspiring, intensely frustrating, intensely demanding, intensely rewarding, intensely loud, intensely disorienting, intensely grounding, intensely heartwarming, intensely sad, intensely joyful and, really, just intense. If you've read Our Perfect Space for any amount of time, or better yet, if you've also read a few other blogs written by parents in the early years of adoptive parenting, a common pattern emerges pretty quickly. Intense lows followed by intense highs, sprinkled with a moment from time to time where everyone can just exhale and say, "Ah, this is just about right."

In the past year the challenges and issues we have had to deal with have been many. Very few of them have been insignificant. We have dealt with issues that many parents pray they will never have to face - issues that knock you off your feet and leave you grasping for something, anything to help you regain your stability. We have, on more than one occasion, found ourselves legitimately wondering if our kids will be able to overcome the challenges their early life experiences have left them with and develop into functioning, loving, and productive adults. When you're mired in this type of intensity day in and day out, it is all too easy to find yourself so consumed by the latest issue that you can't see beyond its suffocating reach.

So what's working for us? Where's the positivity in this post? What's working for us is our growing ability to take a step back away from the intensity and soak up in the bigger picture. To take a moment and realize how far our little family, both as individuals and as a whole, has come in the past year.

Our kiddo that once had the emotional control of an 18 month old can, now, on occasion, recognize in themselves when their anxiety and emotions are getting the best of them, pause, and deliberately take deep breaths to calm themselves down and reset their spiraling emotions. With a little help from mom and dad this kid can almost always calm themselves down (at least for a little while). Our other child, who once found even answering yes or no questions when they were upset too difficult can now clearly articulate their feelings in order to process them and move on to a better place. Both kids used to literally flop on the floor (any floor) when someone spoke to them in public. Recently they have found the confidence in their abilities to not only answer a friendly stranger's questions, but to even express their needs and opinions or carry on a conversation. Brent and I are learning to make the type of parenting that works for our kids - calm, open, and always loving first - our go-to parenting style even when its the last thing we're feeling. On several recent occasions, we have received comments on how well behaved, kind, polite, and helpful Elsa and Ashagre are. As a whole, our family is finding its rhythm. We've found it enough that we're starting to recognize when it has appeared; we're learning how to sustain it for longer periods of time.

So right now, I would say the single most important thing that is working for us is our growing ability to not let the tough moments consume us. To recognize when stuff is hard, understand where the challenge is coming from (our kids have pretty predictable triggers), know that it won't last forever, take a deep breath, and parent our kids the best we can to help them get out of the intense place and back into our rhythm (or, if need be, just embrace the crazy). The more we do this, the shorter and less intense the challenges seem to become and the moments when we can just be - be ourselves and be a family - become much more frequent. By stepping away from the intensity and embracing the beautiful and amazing bigger story, we take away the intensity's power to perpetuate itself. We create more space for our family's rhythm to emerge.

So that's my long-winded, somewhat convoluted and circular explanation of what is working for us over here at Our Perfect Space these days. There are several other, more concrete things that are working for us too. With the hope that they might be useful to someone else out there, here they are in no particular order:

• Routine, and if the routine must be disrupted, lots of front-loading and deep breaths
• Deep breaths, lots of deep breaths
• Toaster waffels
• Do-overs, or as is heard in our house many times a day, "Whoa, wait a minute. You wanna try that again?"
• Repair - modeling to our kids the power of saying sorry when you messed up (yes, mommy and daddy mess up too)
• Indian food
• The Disney Savings Plan
• Baseball
• Positive reinforcement - remaining vigilant about celebrating all the good that's happening in our house
• Legos
• Buying a house with an extra bedroom and a dishwasher
• Smiles and laughter

There You Are!

Something big happened recently and I missed it.

Just weeks ago our family was really struggling. Life was hard. Harder than I ever imagined it would be despite having tried to prepare ourselves for the worst before taking the leap into parenthood. Both Brent and I were exhausted. We were stretched to what felt like our limits. Every aspect of our lives was precariously teetering on a narrow and very unstable ledge. If one thing gave, and it felt like they all could at any moment, it all would be lost. Our kids were really struggling too. One kid, in particular, was letting us know loud and clear that they were not ok.

We are not ok. There were many days a few weeks ago when I was so tempted to post those four little words on our blog and nothing more. We are not ok. I needed to cry out. I needed to tell the world, or at least those of you in it that seem to care, how things were really going. I needed someone, anyone, to hear me. Just to know. I needed a space to stop pretending that I could hold it all together. We are not ok. I didn't post it. It seemed to melodramatic. It seemed pointless.

So we trudged forward. No we battled forward, with weary arms swinging dull and damaged blades. We wrote more checks to our therapist. I had honest conversations with my new employers. Brent and I had many, many honest conversations with one another. We listened and heard each other even when doing so zapped whatever minuscule amount of personal energy and perseverance we might have been clinging too that day. We cried. We fell into our beds so tired we hurt, only to wake up the next morning before dawn to battle again. We stepped outside of our comfort zones - I stepped WAY outside of my comfort zones. We worked to break old habits and form new ones.

And then things changed. The change was so subtle I didn't even realize it was happening until sometime earlier this week when my conscious was triggered and my body reactively released some of the past weeks' stress and fear in the form of one big sigh. So this is what it feels like to be a family. To have a natural rhythm and common understanding imbedded in your day's activities. To just be together. To just be together and enjoy it. This is what I thought I signed up for! This is what it feels like!

Things are ok. We are ok! We are better than ok! (Wait, that feels dangerous putting it out there like that. Maybe I should at least delete one of those exclamation points and turn it into a period. I don't want to jinx anything).

Sometime in the last week or so, just over one year of starting this crazy experiment, our little family of four really found its groove. I know I've typed that phrase in the past - found its groove - but this is different. I don't think this is just a false groove created by a temporary lack of the really hard and messy stuff. That kind of groove is more palpable; it doesn't sneak up on you. This is different. This new rhythm is more natural. It includes the messy stuff, but the messy stuff is ok. I never signed up for no messes. Messes are the cornerstone of family life. Families do messes together. That's what they do.

The other day our therapist asked me how things were going. I began to answer her cautiously; I still had to convince myself it was true. As I continued to provide examples of how well things were going, I grew more confident in my answer. The kids are thriving. They've made HUGE academic leaps in the past few weeks - academic leaps that wouldn't be possible if they were existing in the fearful place of a few weeks ago. Both kids are making big leaps socially as well. Both kids, but one kid in particular, is showing amazing emotional growth. Work is going well for both Brent and me; we're both too busy, but things are going well. The other pieces of the puzzle that felt so precariously arranged a few weeks ago are starting to feel more managable. This weekend, I had a conversation with the kids about bickering and whining. Bickering and whining. These are things every kid struggles with, they are no where close to the things we were struggling with just a few weeks ago - struggles stemming from trauma and institutionalization.

I don't expect that we'll never be in that not ok place again. We've all still got a lot of work to do, both individually and as a family. My comfort zone still needs stretching. Both of our kids still need so much reassurance and love and understanding. There's a lot of filling up and reinforcing and nurturing to do. I'm starting to gain the understanding and accept the fact that the really hard stuff seems to bubble up explosively right before a huge leap of growth. There is still much growing to be done and I'm sure things will be tough once again.

But for today, for now, I'm just going to enjoy the messy, beautiful, crazy family we've managed to become.

We are ok.


There you are my beautiful children! There you are - the true you - the beautiful you hiding behind all that fear and sadness. Thank you. Thank you for persevering. Thank you for fighting right alongside your new Mommy and Daddy. Thank you for fighting harder than we can even imagine even as we watch you do it. Thank you for your optimism and openness and willingness to wake up each morning and keep moving forward. You take my breath away; you inspire me. Thank you for pushing, sometimes outright demanding, us to be better, to grow. You are worth it. You are so worth it.

Yes, they are eating Starbucks breakfast sandwiches
before school. No, it is not a common occurance. We
had no electricity and mommy was getting coffee. Yes,
we absolutely enjoyed our breakfast date before school.

Teetering On The Edge Of Something Big

It may be premature to write this, but its been banging around in my head for a few days and I feel like I need to give it a shot. If you're reading this, that means I was able to get somewhere within the web of thoughts occupying much of my spare time these days (Who am I kidding? What spare time? These thoughts must just be distracting me from whatever else is going on).

Before Brent and I ever committed to international adoption I started reading adoption blogs. Time and time again I ran across the same theme. Parents of kids with all sorts of stories came to the same conclusion, "I needed this kid more than they needed me." Before becoming Ashagre and Elsa's momma this thought wasn't much more than an enduring sound byte to me. It seemed like the right thing to say, if you will, in a world of, "those kids are so lucky to have been adopted." At best, I heard this statement as an honest attempt to sum up the complexities of a parent's motivations to adopt.

However, about two months ago that phrase took on a whole new deeper meaning to me. The vast majority of our family has been working pretty intensely with our attachment therapist for nearly two months now. It turns out that when I posited in this post How do you blog about the fact that your attachment-challenged kiddo also seems to have an attachment-challenged momma? I wasn't far off from reality at all.

Today was one of those days in therapy where everything that's been thrown out there to swirl around in the room in a disorienting mess coalesces. Seemingly disparate issues all of a sudden have meaning when linked together. And the unifying theme, is ME - me and my shit.

Issues, thoughts, and schemas I've been carrying around with me for as long as I can remember - and successfully burying when things are going well - are all of a sudden no longer ignorable. This thing, this piece of me, has always been there. I've know of its negative effects on my being for quite some time. But now, if I want to help my kid heal and reach their fullest potential I have to stop and heal myself. I have to stare down a part of myself that has been holding me back on so many levels for longer than I can remember, own it, and ask it to move on.

It's a pretty scary place to be. I definitely feel very precarious, like I'm teetering on the edge of something so much bigger than I've ever experienced before. I feel more vulnerable - the kind of vulnerability that strikes with precision at your core - than I've felt in a very long time. Just writing this post makes my chest tighten and my breathing become laborious. But its also an exciting and hopeful place to be. It feels like if I can take this thing on and work through it I'll reach an entire new level of being. A place of more contentedness, more compassion, and a greater ability to live in the present. A place where I can more deeply experience the love, the passion, and the pain that life has to give us. A place I've been yearning to be for a long time.

I have a feeling I've been searching for this opportunity for much of my adult life and probably even longer. Who would have thought I'd have to travel half way across the globe to Ethiopia in what I thought was a journey to become a parent in order to find it? So yeah, it turns out I might have needed my kids just as much, or more, than they needed me.

To Neverland and Back

This is a strange feeling - one I haven't had for probably about four years back when I was in grad school sitting down late at night to get started on a paper that was due early the next morning. It's 9 pm on Monday night of a three day weekend. Tomorrow morning, starting at about 5:30 its bye bye winter break for the kids and back to the grind for Brent and me. Our family has been fighting something involving sore throats, a lot of snot and lovely coughs for a few weeks, and staying up until midnight for New Years has really taken its toll on the parental folk in this household (yes I'm just a year beyond thirty and I admitted that to the interwebs). I just helped Brent cut up two bags of organic kiwi for snack for Ashagre's class tomorrow, and I must write a blog post. Yes, must. You see, my friend Kimberly was having a hard time getting back into the swing of blogging after the holidays and asked me for some inspiration. I delivered. I suggested we both write on a common theme and post at the same time. Kimberly's post is already up. I have to hold up my end of the bargain.

We agreed to write on what it's like to go from living life as a childless couple to parents of two (or more) walking, talking, bike riding, opinion stating, hugging, snuggling Ethiopian kids over night. Brent and I met Kimberly and her husband Charles in Addis in November when we traveled for our court trip. We were staying at the same hotel. They had traveled in hopes of a court trip too. They happened to be from the same small town in Idaho I was born in. Brent and I stalked them - we played it off very casually enjoying our machiatos on the veranda they had to pass through to go to their room - hoping they'd want to join us for dinner. They had already had the same idea and plans were set. We did dinner again the next night and have kept in touch ever since. We even visited them in Idaho when we traveled to see my family this summer. Kimberly's three, yes, THREE, kids came home a few months after ours and we have been comparing notes ever since. I can't tell you how reassuring it has been to have someone out there that I could share anything with during those first few months that would quickly write back to say things at their house look pretty much the same as they did at ours. I also can't tell you how grounding it was to, every once and while, think, "Wow things must be REALLY crazy over at the Manning's right now." After all, we only adopted two at once. They adopted three!

Ok, on with the theme or its going to be a long night.


Peter: I want always to be a boy, and have fun. 
Wendy: You say so, but I think it is your biggest pretend. [Peter Pan]

Tonight was hair night for Ashagre. Now that he has dreadlocks, hair night only comes around every month or so, but his dreads were getting fuzzy and fluffy and I figured I might as well re-twist them and clean them up before the big day back to school tomorrow. Brent scanned the selection on Netflix and I convinced him that the movie Hook wouldn't be too scary. Ashagre was SO not into it until Robin Williams finally returned to Neverland and the adventures began. I kept telling him to be patient, that it was one of my favorite movies. He really had no choice since I had one or two of his dreads pinched between my figures at all times so he settled in and ended up cheering and raving about the movie in the end. Elsa, who can scare easily from movies, teared up once but absolutely loved it.

What does this have to do with going from zero to two kids over night? One thing no one ever told me about having kids, especially ones that can walk and talk and have their own ideas about how the world works already, is that the experience is sort of like being in the possession of a large, unavoidable mirror. No matter how you try to advert your eyes, your reflection is always right there staring back at you. Becoming a parent to a vivacious 6 year old girl and a silly 5 year old boy overnight for me was sort of like returning to Neverland for Robin Williams in the moving Hook. I've learned a lot about myself in the past few months. Actually, learned isn't the right word. I've had to face and come to terms with a lot about myself in the past several months and some of it hasn't been all that flattering. Challenges I've known I've had for a long time, but have chosen to push under the rug have come dashing out of hiding demanding for me to attend to them since the kids have been home. Its been pretty hard at times, but also one of the most inspiring times of my life.

You want to know a secret? Since we announced that we'd found an attachment therapist and started therapy several months ago our therapist has only seen the kiddo that was struggling once for an evaluation. The other six? eight? sessions have been either with Brent and me or just me alone. It turns out that if you want to help your traumatized kid heal and build healthy attachments you have to be whole yourself. You have to be ready to take on whatever trauma they throw at you with warmth, compassion and understanding. You have to teach them that no matter how bad it gets you are strong enough, capable enough, and loving enough to ride it out with them and love them through it.

Going from zero to two kids overnight has made me aware of how selfish I am. Despite the fact that Brent and I wanted to parent these two kids with our whole hearts and every cell in our body and have never regretted that decision, I've had a really hard time redefining myself as a mom. As anyone that has been reading the Perfect Space knows, Brent and I lived many years together with a good dose of the Peter Pan mentality.  We were never going to grow up. There were days when the kids first came home that I had to lie in bed for a few minutes after I woke up and give myself a pep talk to make myself get up and care for them. Not because of anything having to do with them, but because there was still a part of me that was holding tight to the freedom and independence you so quickly loose when you become a parent. I wanted to be Elsa and Ashagre's mom, but a part of me still didn't want to grow up. Up until I became Ashagre and Elsa's mom, the only beings Brent and I had to attend to were our dogs. They're pretty darn easy and don't ask for much. All of a sudden there were these two little beings in our home who's needs occupied the top of the list. Everything else came second to them and some little voice in my head wasn't very happy about it.

Going from zero to two kids overnight illuminated the fact that I am not a naturally nurturing person. It made me admit, out loud, to a complete stranger that I was having difficulty loving one of my kids the way they needed to be loved. Going from zero to two kids also taught me that, while I wasn't the snuggly, hugging, cooing mom I had painted myself to be as I imagined motherhood, I also had more of a natural mothering knack than I would have once given myself credit for.

Going from zero to two kids overnight is helping me redefine what's important in life. It's showing me, for the first time ever, the value of living in the moment. The importance of being present enough to let those fleeting moments of utter joy get through my 100 mph, always planning the next adventure or complicated schedule, mind. This is not easy for me. Living in the present is something I've been avoiding for nearly my entire life. Going from zero to two kids is helping me allow myself to feel the inevitable pain that accompanies parenting kids with such sad stories so I can also feel the sublime joy. The kind of joy that comes from watching Elsa effortlessly and without anxiety engage and ecstatically playing with her new friend, Bobby, at the playground today and then pause to help her other new friend, Dinkinesh, join in the game without even a glance in my direction for reassurance or help. The kind of joy that comes from overhearing Ashagre announce to himself that he is really good at building things with his Erector set. Choking back my own tears as Elsa's eyes welled up in response to the little girl in Hook steadfastly believing in the ability of her mommy's and daddy's love to keep her safe.

In her post, Kimberly writes about the moment she mourned the life she had lost after her kids came home. I have to admit I'm kind of jealous to read that. For me I don't think its been so concrete. Its been more of a constant battle. A continuous fight against the little voice that says, "I don't want to. Not right now. Can't I just have a moment to do what I want, to put my own needs first? Where are the rewards? When am I going to start getting as much out of this as I am putting into it?" Over time though, the voice is loosing its power. Its harder to hear it and easier to ignore it. Those rewards are either becoming more frequent or I am getting better at noticing them.

Postscript: I think when I suggested this theme to Kimberly I was hoping we would compare notes on the significance of becoming parents to more than one older child through adoption. Rereading my post above, I can't say that's what I've written about at all. Here's the truth though. Before the kids came home, when Brent and I would tell people we were adopting two "older" kids people would almost always stammer, "Two? Really? Why two?" Many told us outright that we were crazy (in a kind way). I'm not going to go into the specifics on why we knew this was the right choice for us in this post, but I will say that our answer to the disbelievers was always straightforward, "We've never had any kids, so we won't know the difference. Zero to one or zero to two, its going to be a pretty big change either way so why not adopt two?" I've told several people that adopting two unrelated kids of almost the same age was actually one of the best adoption decisions we made. I still believe that, and I, honestly, besides the obvious constant micro-battles for our attention, I really can't even begin to imagine how adopting only one would have been much easier.

If you haven't done so already, head over to BigLifeSmallTown and see what Kimberly has to say on the matter.

Status Update: Rainbows & Thunderclouds

It's 9:04 p.m. on Friday night. Brent has been asleep for at least a half hour and I am currently typing in the dark as he sleeps next to me; his mom is asleep on the couch in the living room (Yeah, a ridiculous amount of rent money doesn't get you much square footage in these parts. The kids already share a room, so when guests come they get to fight with the dogs for the living room couch.) I have to work tomorrow, since I somehow felt obligated to see the last of my How to Kill Your Lawn (also known as Ocean Friendly Gardens) classes through before completely cutting myself off from my previous job.

We're tired. We're tired and we're making progress. Last Wednesday I started my new job. Brent started picking up the kids from school that Friday. It has probably been one of the smoothest transitions we have experienced in a long time. People keep asking me how the new job is going and if I am stressed about the change. Every time it comes up I can't help but look at them with confusion and chuckle. In the scheme of recent transitions, this transition - from working on water conservation in the public sector to working on water conservation in the private sector - has barely even registered.

Overall, things are going well. In fact, if I am to evaluate how things are going on one factor alone - the most important factor, stated so perfectly and directly (seriously, I love people that can get to the heart of things as directly as possible) in this comment by Morgan on my Multicolored Flatulence post, things are going really well:

While I'm being bossy, let me tell you that I think coming up with a plan is a great idea. It doesn't have to be a perfect plan. It just has to help you make movement on this sentence: "one of your children is falling apart right in front of your eyes and your intuition tells you that you are doing nothing to help them, that, instead, you think you might be making it worse." Find a way to work on this. One step. 

We made a plan. In fact the plan had already been laid out before that post was even written. Over the past few weeks we've been carrying it out and its working. Really well.

Our kiddo that was falling apart has been happier and more regulated than they have been for many months. Since implementing the plan, namely diving into attachment therapy and acquiring the understanding and tools necessary to support our kid, said kid has had zero - yes zero - meltdowns before school. The average used to be somewhere around 98% in favor of before school meltdowns. This child hasn't even seen the therapist yet minus one 45 minute evaluation in which the therapist watched in another room through a video camera as we played together. This transformation is just from changes made by Brent and me as we work with the therapist to get to the place in our parenting we need to be to support our kid.  On the second day that I got the kids ready for school, said kid spontaneously burst out the front door pumping their fists in the air proudly (and maybe with a bit of surprise) shouting, "I'm happy! I'm happy! I'm happy!" as they headed toward the car. This same kid, who, just weeks ago could spiral out of control faster than an Ethiopian sprinter has, all week, been able to calm themselves down with just a little prompting from Mom and Dad (minus one isolated incident involving Lola and a coveted pinecone). Recently this child started identifying some of the big feelings they routinely have and calling them for what they are before regaining control and not letting the big feeling get the best of them. All of a sudden, I am enjoying parenting again.

So yeah, things are going well. We still have quite a few kinks to work out, and the therapist still maintains that things will get worse before they get better. Brent and I are having a tougher time than we anticipated switching schedules, but we're figuring it out and, most importantly, our kid no longer seems to be teetering on some sort of very big and scary edge. I'm certain there's more thunder in our future, but for now I'll bask in the cold, dim sunshine of a California winter.


The kids and I took these pictures with my phone two weekends ago when we were killing time in a Hollywood coffee shop waiting to get their hair done. Maybe its just the momma in me, but I've really grown to love these pictures because, if you look closely, you can catch a glimpse of their decreasing intensity (anxiety) and growing comfort and confidence.

If you're wondering why the majority of my recent
pictures of Elsa include this outfit, its because she's
just a little bit into it right now. I can't wash it fast
enough for her.

Handsome, cool, calm, and collected. This boy's got it
all, minus the toothpaste all over the front of his shirt.

One Year Ago Today...

Brent and I sat down at a small busy Indian food restaurant in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia with our new friends Kimberly and Charles Manning. Half way across the world from our turkey and sweet potato eating family and friends our two small families came together to celebrate an American holiday in Ethiopia with papadum and vindaloo.

Tonight, without actually giving it too much thought, I called our good friend that runs the Indian restaurant down the street from our house to make sure they were open. Elsa, Ashagre, Brent and I sat down, the only patrons, at Maharaja Cuisine of India for a serendipitous, subtle celebration of our own.

You see, when we joined the Mannings for Indian food in Addis Ababa exactly one year ago, not only were we coming together united in the shared strange feeling of paradox of spending Thanksgiving in an African country half way around the world from our cozy and familiar American lives, but we were also coming together to celebrate the growth of our two families. One year ago today Brent and I learned that the Ethiopian court had made us the legal guardians of Elsa and Ashagre. Kimberly and Charles also learned that they were one important step closer to becoming the parents of their three beautiful Ethiopian children.

One year has passed and neither the Coranski household nor the Manning household is the same. Within the last year both families have morphed from the ease and comfort of a routine shared by childless couples to the hustle and bustle of lives centered around busy kids.

It is almost hard for me to imagine now what I was feeling that night, besides, of course, delight in the warm energy created by new friends who we suddenly had so much in common with. I am sure there was hope and excitement and an idealistic vision of the future that was starting to unfold before us.

That vision, although much less idealistic and a bit more gritty, has become reality. As I write, Elsa and Ashagre play at my feet reading If You Give a Pig a Pancake to each other and playing memory. Their school work spills out onto the coffee table. Ashagre has created a Thanksgiving card. On the outside, in neat, well-proportioned handwriting with small circles to dot the i's it reads Happy Thanksgiving. There is a small acorn sticker pasted centrally below, upside down. On the inside the card reads I am happy for my mom and dad. Ashagre. Elsa has created a Thankful Book. On the first page, she shares that In nature I am thankful for trees. On the second page she is thankful for her mom in her family and on the third her Franny (her teacher's name) in school. Each page is illustrated, the portrait of me features long, blonde hair.

Tonight I am thankful for motherhood. Not the fairy-tail version of motherhood I suspect was floating around in my head one year ago in Addis. No, tonight I am thankful motherhood as it is right now in our cozy bungalow. Motherhood that wakes me up early in the morning in worry. Motherhood that causes me to doubt my capabilities. Motherhood that causes me to second-guess nearly every decision that I make. Motherhood that rips my heart open just as often as it swells that same heart with greater joy than I have ever known. Motherhood that is challenging me to face some of my short-comings and make myself stronger so my kids can grow stronger. Motherhood that doles out three kisses (one on each cheek, followed by the forehead) and a high five every night before turning the lights out. Motherhood that is teaching me, reluctant student that I may be, to slow down and soak up life's daily blessings.


Prologue: We may just continue our new tradition of Indian food for Thanksgiving in the years to come, but for those of you that might be worried that Ashagre and Elsa did not get to experience a traditional American Thanksgiving, fear not. Last Sunday our home was warmed by the laughter and love of some of our closest friends before they departed town to join their own families in other areas. Brent cooked up the turkey (perfectly of course) and stuffing, and I whipped out homemade cranberries and sweet potatoes. Friends brought the rest. Of course, we wrapped up the evening with a Michael Franti dance party (after pie and Ethiopian coffee with kahlua).

Sizing up his 19 pound bird.

Beautiful baby Ollie.

Perfection.

Hamming it up at the kids' table (we were expecting a few more kids to join them).

The big kids (and baby) table.

Elsa never can get enough of her Uncle Woosha Dog.

Multi-Colored Flatulence

So a candid and honest conversation among some members of our family confirmed what my gut has been telling me about this blog for quite some time, "From reading your blog it seems like it all rainbow farts and sunshine over there..."

Um, nope. Time for a reality check. This blog has come to a crossroad. Its time to either be real or shut the thing down. I'm choosing to be real. You might not like what you read.

How do you...

...blog about the fact that the honeymoon period ended several months ago and that things are far from pretty? How do you blog about the fact that one of your children is falling apart right in front of your eyes and your intuition tells you that you are doing nothing to help them, that, instead, you think you might be making it worse? How do blog about the fact that said child starts nearly every day and kicks off many bed times in a screaming fit? No - a screaming fit doesn't do it justice. How do you blog about the fact that said child becomes so angry that they become wild animal-like, their eyes fixed and blazing, their mouth foaming with screams so violent that their voice is hoarse two days later? How do you blog about the fact that, as this kid's mom, you know that the intense and high energy but usually charming sunshiny public self this child is so good at putting out into the world is really often a protection mechanism and a loud, anxiety-driven demand for help to feel more safe? How do you blog about the fact that the public has no idea what is really going on and is completely charmed by their desperate behavior, often making things worse? How do you blog about the fact that this same child has shared the wonderful and grounded being they are at their core with you, but that you can't help them feel safe enough to reveal that self very often? How do you blog about the fact that these things break your heart repeatedly every day? How do you blog about the fact that the therapist says it will get worse before it gets better?

How do you blog about the fact that you find yourself having a harder and harder time finding compassion for said child despite the fact that you know with 100% certainty that it is not their fault and that they are suffering more than you are? How do you blog about the fact that compassion, understanding, and unburdened love are what your child seems to need, but that it is uncomfortable and unnatural for you to provide these things for them? How do you blog about the fact that your attachment-challenged kiddo also seems to have an attachment-challenged momma? How do you explain this without sounding like you don't love your child because you do? How do you blog about how horrid this makes you feel? How do you blog about the fact that tightly wound stress and deep seated worry are your two constant companions? How do you blog about the fact that you are growing increasingly disappointed in the parent you seem to be?

How do you blog about the fact that your other child reminds you constantly that you do have the natural ability to mother, love, nurture, snuggle and play? How do celebrate this other child's miraculously smooth and open transition into your family while their sibling is struggling right there next to them? How do you blog about this other child shutting down in a trance of tears at gymnastics because they are so afraid that they might not master a new skill on the first try? How do you blog about the fact that at least with this child, you can scoop them up and comfort them and help them feel safe enough again to rejoin the group and end the day in success? How do you blog about the fact that you suspect this deeply held fear of failure is rooted in a fear that if they're not good enough at something, anything, they'll be sent away once again? 

How do you answer the constant barrage by well-meaning acquaintances inquiring about how the kids' transition is going when all they want to hear is, "Great! They've learned English, are doing great in school, play on a soccer team, and are generally two happy kids!" (not a lie, but only the surface view of how things are going too). How do you blog about the reality of adopting older children that have experienced more heartbreak in their 6 and 7 years on this earth than many of us will in our lifetimes? How do you explain the entirety of your reality in two quick sentences? How do you do it without sounding like you regret your decision, which you definitely don't? How do you blog about these things without sounding hopeless, which you definitely aren't? How do you maintain your child's privacy while letting those you love and those that love you and your kids and those that might be exploring international adoption for the first time peer through the rainbow from time to time and see the ominous and dark thunderclouds in the background for what they are? How do you let these people really see how hard you're struggling in this place of rainbows, sunshine, and thunderstorms? 

I don't know. And so, I continue writing this blog because it gives me a place to memorialize the rainbow farts and sunshine - they're real too - to focus on and savor the things that are going well. To bask in the radiant smiles of my amazing kids. To connect with others that are traveling similar paths.

I guess there's always two sides to a story. We'll have to see where this one goes from here.

I scoured our home and this is the closest thing I could find to rainbow
farts - our dirty dishes. A rainbow of colors since we've gotten so short on
clean dishes we've moved to the camping gear. There is a slight odor...

Before you go calling Public Health - I washed them all tonight. We're
hanging in there...

Fear

Oh little one that keeps all of your big feelings locked up tightly inside of you. I am sorry I triggered your fear yesterday. I should have given you more warning that we needed to have some blood drawn. Honestly, I forgot until it was the last minute and we had to go. I will do my best not to spring something like that on you again. We both know that you can now usually handle invasions of your body and personal space if you are given enough warning beforehand. Just last week you volunteered to get your shots first and you barely flinched, even on the third one. We celebrated as you walked triumphantly out of the doctors office, your prize sucker hanging proudly out of your mouth.

It has been a while since we've seen that fear or yours. The fear that comes from somewhere deep down inside. The fear that overtakes you - causes you first to try to flee and, when that doesn't work, causes you fight. The fear that glazes over your eyes as you try to release it in loud, primal shrieks. You've overcome so much in nine months. We used to experience your fear every time we gave you a bath. The doctor and the dentist were out of the question. Honestly, I may have forgotten just for a little while that you still have that fear locked up inside of you along with those secrets of your past that you aren't comfortable sharing yet. Yeah, those secrets. The ones that cause you to toss and turn and moan and swing your fists in your sleep. We know they're in there, your daddy and me, and it breaks our hearts.

You are so brave little one. I am constantly in awe of your ability to move forward and jump into new adventures even when you know first-hand what real fear - raw terror - is. Just yesterday it took you mere minutes to shake off the blood draw and run up to me for a huge, reassurance-filled hug. Don't think I haven't noticed that you are starting to let the fear loosen its grip on your heart and trust, just a little bit, that we WILL pick you up at the end of each day and that you can rely on us to keep you safe. I hope that you are starting to realize that I'll be there to hold you through your fear and celebrate with you when you make it out unscathed on the other side. I'll be there to try and help you process it when you're ready and, I promise, I won't judge you. Your fear isn't a sign of weakness and it will not ever cause us to give up on you. You are our child, fear, failure, success, triumph, bravery, and a million other things - forever.

Snuggles

Oh little one. You play a good game with your huge smile, your bright eyes, and your confident strut. I know its not a complete charade. At your core you really are as strong and happy and full of life as you let the world think you are.

Don't worry, you are safe with me. It's ok to show me your hole - the empty space. The space eroded in your soul from over six years spent competing with 350 other kids for attention, for a morsel of soul-nourishing love. I'll do my best to shoulder some of its weight; I know how mighty it can be.

I'll admit. Sometimes that hole feels like it could swallow both of us. Sometimes I don't feel like I have enough of myself to give to you. Enough to make up for six years of lost snuggles and motherly adoration. How do I fill it up? How can I possibly hold you long and tight enough, wrapped in your quilt like the tiny baby that instead lay alone in her crib?

For now I'll just have some faith in time. Time is one thing we've got, you and me. Time after school to do nothing but learn the rhythm of each other's breathing and feel the warmth of each others bodies as you nestle in my lap, head tucked under my chin. Time, year after year, for me to prove to you that I'll pick you up when you fall down, that I'll sit in silent sadness with you so you don't have to sit there alone, that I'll be there watching and cheering you on when you score a goal in soccer or sail across the monkey bars. That I am your mommy until the end of time.

A Breath of Fresh Air

Tonight was one of those nights I couldn't be more thankful to be a mom.

Daddy and the kids playing whiffle ball in the backyard. Fighting off our far-too-bold chickens as we nourished our worn end-of-the-week bodies and souls on grilled barbecue pork chops, steamed broccoli, and stuffing on the back deck under the weakening sun. Flower watering that turned into puddle stomping and prancing and wet chalk creating on the back slab. Music. Dancing. Chasing and running from monsters in the far corners of the yard as the night grew darker. Snuggles and kisses from my girl by the warmth of the fire that Daddy built. Shrieks of delight as we laid out the plans for the weekend. A moment between the boys as they waited in Ashagre's bed for me and Elsa to finish her evening routine.

And, culminating the evening...finally, months after she first announced it was loose in June, the removal of Elsa's bottom tooth with one quick, light tug.  I think she scampered into the bedroom to show Daddy, eyes huge and mouthful of blood, before she even really wrapped her head around what had happened. Her excitement and pride was palpable. Finally that tooth, the tooth that the dentist ordered her to get out over two weeks ago, the tooth that Daddy and Mommy insisted she wiggle for the entirety of every car ride taken had come out. She carefully labeled her envelope, "To Tooth Fairy, From Elsa" and, somewhat apprehensively, stuck it under her pillow while explaining that when she lost her first tooth in Ethiopia it was thrown in the garbage.

No, its not the upper right tooth we're celebrating tonight.
She lost that one sometime last year in Ethiopia.  It's the
bottom right.  The one that had an equally-sized adult tooth
behind it already to fill in the gap.

A night of magic. A night of togetherness. A night of love. A night of Family. A night to remind Mommy and Daddy that nights like these are too few and far between in these parts these days.

I'm Calling it Right Now

On Friday night when my little family of four is dancing under the stars until we can dance no more to the sounds of Michael Franti, I just might have some big old tears rolling down my face.

If this song doesn't do it...

then this one probably will...

and if that one doesn't, then this one will for certain.

(sorry horrible video, but it had the best sound).

I have been listening to Michael Franti on and off since high school, but for some reason his message of hope really hit home when we began our journey to adopt Elsa and Ashagre.  Without any thought to it, Franti became the soundtrack to my days as we filled out paperwork, waited, and waited some more.  By November, when our court date was literally days away, just thinking of a lyric from a Franti song brought me to unstoppable messy tears.  When we returned home from the court trip and began the wait again, this time with the smell of the olive oil in Ashagre's hair and the glow of Elsa's smile clouding my perception, another adoptive momma, who is even a bigger Franti fan than I am, shared this with me (be warned - you'll need a box of tissue).  I had no idea that Michael Franti was adopted, but that night as I sat in our house alone (Brent was on a fishing trip) and messaged over FB with another momma longing for her boys over in Ethiopia, I knew, yet again, that Brent and I were moving in the right direction.  That we had put our energy out there to the world and the world was sending us reaffirming energy back. That Elsa and Ashagre were our kids and that there was more love in the world than one could think possible so long as I just had a little faith and opened myself up to it.

So I'm calling it - Tears - BIG ones, especially when Elsa joins me in signing nearly every single lyric we hear (the girl loves her some Franti).

A Letter to My Son on His 6th Birthday

Dear Ashagre,

I know that I have only been your mommy for five and a half months, but I want to tell you that the space you occupy in my heart is immense.  Since that bright November day in Addis when I held you for the first time, you and I have clicked.  That evening as I trudged back through the diesel-smoke choked streets over the hill to our hotel without you tore me to pieces.  Leaving you at the guesthouse after spending five days together during our court trip made me feel like I was loosing my mind.  I could hardly enjoy my adventures with daddy as we explored Sidama because all I could think about was your smell (olive oil in your hair) and your warm little body nestled into my lap.  Snuggling close to you in the hotel room in Awasa during our second night together as a family of three - as close as you could get - and watching you drift peacefully off to sleep while rubbing my arm filled me with a joy I had never experienced before.

Don't worry.  I know that I need to earn my title as your mommy.  I do not take for granted the fact that your first mom loved you for years before I even glimpsed your picture.  I thank her (and your first dad) daily for loving you so deeply in the earliest years of your life.  Because of their love, I believe, you came to our family open and oh so ready to start building loving bonds anew.  I will always honor your Ethiopian parents and thank them for the opportunity to raise and love you.

Parenting you and Elsa these past five and a half months has been one of the hardest things I have ever done, but also one of the most rewarding.  Watching you experience a whole new world with your eyes wide open, a soft smile on your face, and your easily-elicited happy dance has been so much fun.  Even on the days that we don't see eye to eye and that stubborn streak your relatives warned us about comes into play are good days because of your ability to move on and let things go, to make things right, and come back for another hug.

You have grown so much since coming to live with us in Ventura.  Not only are you taller and heavier (I can't believe I carried you everywhere during our time together in Ethiopia before we came home), but you are stronger and more coordinated.  I love watching you ride your scooter as fast as you can through the neighborhood; you do it with such comfort and ease.  You are so close to learning how to swim and I can't wait to watch you learn how to use the new boogie board we got you for your birthday.

Now, at age six, you are obsessed with fire trucks, cars, and garbage trucks.  You love legos and can spend hours building complex airplanes, helicopters, and other vehicles. You really enjoy books and will spend hours looking at them and "reading" them to Elsa.  You also love to play parents with Elsa and your sock monkeys; you especially like to pretend that your monkeys are in trouble.  It's a nice reminder to mommy and daddy what we must sound like to you sometimes as we demand that you to get something done and move on to the next task.  You also love to be outside, especially at the beach, where you like to jump in and kick at the waves and dig in the sand.  While you recently have begun telling us you don't like school, you take great pride in your school work. Your handwriting is very neat.  You often finish your homework packet a few days before its due and almost always get it right.  You are excited to tell me about your day's adventures each day when I pick you up from school.  You are a super adventurous eater that will try anything.  It's kind of silly, but I take pride in the fact that you can go shake for shake with me and the bottle of hot sauce, or spicy, as you call it.

Ashagre, you are a thoughtful and caring boy with an open heart and a warm smile. I have had so much fun being your mommy over the past five and a half months.  I can't wait to see what the next year brings.  Happy Birthday!

Love,
Mommy

I Don't Want to Forget

I think it was our third day visiting Elsa at her orphanage during our first trip to Ethiopia for court.  On the first day's visit we spent all day inside getting to know each other, thoroughly examining the contents of our day pack, and playing with our sunglasses and camera.  On the second day we played outside on the rusty pieced-together playground equipment in the searing Ethiopian sun.  On the third day we needed something new to do.  The playground was a lot of fun, but we had gotten too much sun the day before and instead hoped to have a quieter more intimate visit with Elsa.  

A fellow traveler had several huge bags of crayons with her that were to be donated to a school she was planning on visiting.  She suggested we take a few.  When we arrived, the usually quiet and tightly run orphanage was a little more lively.  It was Saturday and instead of being in school like they had the past two days, hundreds of other kids were out playing and milling around the compound.  We easily found Elsa and were quickly mobbed by the four and under set.  Obviously a bit frustrated with the competition for our attention, Elsa led us up a hill toward some traditional huts found on the property.  The mob thinned a bit as few of the younger kids couldn't keep up and fell back, but a small posse, including a little girl that probably had only learned to walk a few days prior, tottered up the steep cement stairs towards the huts with us.

My attention focussed on Elsa, I didn't notice the baby wobbling up the steps after us until I felt a small hand softly grab mine.  I looked down to see a little boy, probably no older than six or seven, gesturing at me with a disappointed glare on his face to go pick up the baby.  He was looking out for her and didn't want her to get hurt.  Baby on my hip, we climbed more steps up to the huts.

When we reached the huts the kids ran around a bit and showed us how brave they were by jumping off a huge cement wall that was much taller than they were.  Elsa, always with her huge bright eyes and radiant grin, was sure to show us her jumping skills and her general fearlessness.

Finally we decided to sit down and pull out the crayons.  We hoped to draw with Elsa and maybe trace her hands and feet for sizing once we got back the U.S.  However, as soon as the crayons came out mob mentality overtook the kids.  "Colors! Colors! Colors!"  Little hands flashed in from all directions trying to get at the brand new crayons.  What happened next led to the first moment I've ever felt a parent's pride for their child.

Elsa, frustrated with the chaos calmly indicated that she wanted all the crayons.  We gave them to her and she climbed down a few steps from where we were sitting and ordered all the grabby little kids to calm down and gather around her.  One by one she broke each crayon into three pieces.  Each child got a piece of crayon.  All were expected to wait patiently for their piece of crayon and no one went without.  When all was finished, the crayons were dispersed and Elsa had none.  The kids wandered off to find a piece of trash to color on and Elsa got a few moments with her mommy and daddy before the other kids came staggering back with a scrap of cardboard or small piece of paper to show us their coloring.

Elsa is still that kind and sharing girl we got to know just a little bit better that day at the orphanage and I am still proud to be her momma.

Trust

A few days ago, a friend linked to Karen Maezen Miller's Parent's Little List of Trust in her comments on one of my posts.  I have since been reading it daily (Thank you Jennifer). Right now this one phrase really seems to hit home:

Trust that when you can't handle it for one more minute, you can handle it for one more minute.

It's sort of become a mantra for me over the past few days.

This evening, not long after I wrote the Rest for the Weary post, Elsa vomited all over the back of the car totally unexpectedly.  Minutes after I pulled up in front of the house and summoned Brent for help, one of our neighbors pulled up in her car and stopped.  She is one of the few neighbors on our block that we don't know.  She rolled down her window and asked where the kids were from.  She introduced herself.

It turns out she's from Ethiopia - Sidama, in fact.  She spoke both Sidamenga and Amharic with Ashagre.  He was giddy with surprise and excitement and answered her questions bashfully in English.  She doesn't claim Ventura as home, but has been living here a while and thinks she'll be here a while longer.  She's working on opening an Ethiopian restaurant in Ventura.  She is ecstatic to get to know our family better.

And so another gem from the Little List proves timely:
Trust accidents and coincidences; trust imperfection and the unforeseen.

Rest for the Weary? Yeah Right!

Earlier today at an infamous chain coffee shop that I shouldn’t frequent as often as I do (or at all for that matter).

Barista: Hi! What can I get for you?

Me (in brain is in a zillion other places, eyes are glazed over, rapid-fire response mode): Uh, I’d like a grande iced non-fat chai.  Wait.  No.  I mean a grande non-fat iced coffee.  Um, I mean I want a grande iced non-fat mocha.  Yeah, that’s what I meant.  Final answer.  

Barista (with a bit of trepidation in her voice): Do you want whip cream on that?

Me (compensating with an overly decisive tone): No, no whip cream, thank you.

I thought I was doing a decent job of concealing it.  I think I’ve been deluding myself.

I am exhausted.  Brent is exhausted.  This parenting stuff is really hard.  It’s especially hard when there’s only two of you and your 5 (almost 6) and 6 year old kids arrived from Ethiopia only 5 months ago (at least it seems especially hard, but how would I know, I’ve never experienced it any other way).  

Brent and I have, since the very early years of our relationship, always operated under a “together we can conquer the world” mentality.  It has served us well.  Together we can conquer the world.  In typical Brent and Dakota fashion we have devised and choreographed a grand plan to make sure the kids’ educational needs and our career requirements are met without compromising the kids' needs for quality time with their new parents.

It looks something like this:

4:30 AM – Dakota wakes up before her alarm (usually) to get ready for work.  The house is dark and silent when she rises and is not much lighter or more noisy (sometimes the dogs get up with me) when she leaves at 5:40 to be to work at 6:00.

5:45 AM – Brent gets himself out of bed (a modern miracle considering Brent’s love for sleep and ability to completely tune out even the most annoying alarm clocks) and prepares to get the kids ready for school.  They have one hour to dress, eat a nutritious breakfast, brush their teeth, moisturize their skin, and head out the door with a nutritious lunch.  One child is notorious for being the slowest eater in the world (seriously).  Brent works mini-miracles daily to make this happen.

7:00 AM – Brent drops the kids off at school and begins the 45 minute commute to work in Santa Barbara.

Both of us work our tails off at our respective jobs.

2:30 PM – Dakota leaves work, an 8 hour work day completed, and picks up the kids from school.  The afternoon is spent at the playground, playing at the house, running quick errands, and at numerous doctors’ appointments.  The idea is to provide the kids with a chance to spend quality time with mommy for several hours each day.

6:00 PM – Brent is home.  Dinner usually must be started.  Alternating days are bath nights for the kids.

8:00 PM – The kids start getting ready for bed with the goal of having them lying down, listening to daddy read them a story by 8:30.  Usually it happens.  Sometimes it’s later; sometimes a major meltdown happens instead. The hour or so we manage to stay up past getting the kids in bed is spent debriefing the day and preparing for the next one.

Under this schedule Brent and I continue to work our respective 40 hour work weeks so as not to let our employers down.  The kids get quality (mostly) time with their parents every day.  Brent and I get no time for each other and no time for ourselves.

I don’t think its working all that well.  We’re keeping it together – so far.  The kids are happy and healthy and our bosses are content, but I think we might be cracking.  If and when something has to give, what will it be?  How are we going to add in 6 hours per week of mandatory volunteer time at the kid’s new school come August?  What are we going to do with them from 7:00 AM until 8:30 AM when their new school starts?  How long can we go on abusing our own sanity and health (Exercise? When at 3:00 AM?) before the kids feel the effects?  What can we do differently?

Post script:  This is not a whine or even a rant.  Just a reality check.  Just the honest truth on how things are going.  We know we signed up for this and do not regret our decision for a moment (except for maybe at 1:00 AM when the pressure valve on the toilet mysteriously blows, rapidly filling the bathroom with water and all arrows point to little fingers that just can’t stay out of places they shouldn’t be).