Project Ni Hao

He even got to keep the cap.

June 3, 2010 · 6 Comments

The boy has been talking about this day for weeks, now. He pronounces the event itself as sort of a marriage between “graduation” and “congratulation”: gladulation. The hand-written invitation came home. The songs were practiced. The request for a donation of Hawaiian Punch and/or 7-Up arrived, but I turned both of those down because we have neither in the house and I didn’t really want to make a run to the store. Besides, I figured none of us would be partaking in the punch, as ZZ and I hate Hawaiian Punch (does anyone else get an instant headache from the stuff?) and ZZ won’t drink anything carbonated. He doesn’t like the bubbles.

Man, this year flew by. It seems like just weeks ago that I was stressing out over sending him off on the bus for the very first time. We spent a very intense year getting to know each other before he started Kindergarten; in a flash I went from being at his side for nearly everything to being absent from his day for 6 hours. And that was hard at first – much harder than I thought it would be. Hard for me, that it. ZZ had his days were he sunk into me as he got of the bus, but all told he transitioned well to school.

I confess to having my doubts about the school. We are still butting heads with the bureaucracy in attaining adequate services for some issues. More than once I thought of switching to homeschooling (this mostly after he would come home talking non-stop about boogers, or after that note came home saying so-and-so poked him in the eye with a pencil).

The truth, though, is that he has flourished in school. He is so much more social, so much more confident in himself and in his ability to communicate with others. I see it on the playground when he walks up to unknown kids asking them to play, instead of sitting with me on the bench and watching. I saw it today as he said a confident “hi” to the vendors we visit regularly at the farmers market. I saw it most strikingly as I watched him talk to the dad of a little boy whose birthday party we were attending. ZZ had never spoken to the dad before, however he had quite a conversation with him during cake time. I used to do much of the talking & translating for ZZ, but here the dad understood him – no small thing for a child with a cleft palate. I don’t think he would have made that kind of social progress being at home with me. I think we still have some hurdles in some cognitive areas, but opening up the communication skills is a huge step forward for ZZ.

In the last nine months, ZZ has gotten taller, his feet have grown, and his weight has ever so slightly increased. He looks older to me, although not quite as remarkably so as when I saw the picture from today before looking at the picture from last August. His best grades were in math, but his biggest improvement came in communication – and most of that was in this last quarter. He rocks the motor skills portion of his report card, but never really made any gains in listening, following direction, or paying attention. He’ll stay in the English Second Language program next year, and for that I am eternally grateful as that means his class size will be at least 25% smaller than it would be in a main-stream classroom.

In short, it’s been a good year.

Oh, and the new mohawk hairdo? ZZ had been asking for a mohawk for a while, and so we told him he could have one the last week of school. But wouldn’t you know it? The cap covered up the hawk for the ceremony. Ah, well. He was pretty excited that he got to take the cap home.

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BFF

May 15, 2010 · 2 Comments

ZZ has a new BFF.

I would imagine that one of the tougher transitions for ZZ when he came home from China was becoming an only child. Yes, he has two older siblings, but the emphasis there is older – and not around much. So here he went from living with a 4 -5 kid foster family in a building with other foster families, to living with just a Mama and Baba. No doubt, he was lonely. We would drive past the school and I would catch him gazing longingly at the groups of kids. Yet he was awfully shy about his language and speech deficits, and he would rarely approach other children at playgrounds or in his Gymboree classes.

BFF has two older sisters, and so in his own way I suppose he’s a bit lonely, too. They would wander over when we first came home, curious about their new neighbor, but ZZ was so shy that he would usually either cling to me or run into the house. Then last summer, they played a little bit, but because BFF is a year younger than ZZ, he wasn’t always out at the same time that we were around. And ZZ was still a bit unsure about socializing. But this year, the kids have really synched up – though they aren’t always dressed alike, as in the photo above.

I commented to BFF’s mom that it’s almost like a teenage love affair, they look forward to seeing each other that much. As we’re walking home from school, ZZ will wonder aloud when BFF will get home. Then, about 45 minutes later, BFF is ringing our doorbell, waiting anxiously for ZZ to come to the door. Sometimes they’ll get too riled up and we will have to call the afternoon short, but the next day they’ll be giggling as they’re pedaling their bikes in front of our houses.

The other night, ZZ was down playing at BFF’s house when they came running over along with BFF’s older sister. ZZ breathlessly stammered, “Mama! Can I, can I, can I eat at BFF’s house?! Please, Mama, please, please PLEASE!” He was so. Excited. I looked at BFF and asked if his mom had said that it would be okay, and BFF emphatically, with great seriousness, nodded yes. Well. I have to say it’s pretty cool to see this bit of independence from ZZ, and I love seeing him come out of his shell socially. And, this Mama got to eat a quiet dinner alone with Baba, which is quite the rare treat indeed.

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Us vs. Them

May 12, 2010 · 2 Comments

Two years ago on this morning, my husband was having breakfast at a McD0n@ld’s in Lake Geneva, WI. He hadn’t yet heard of the Sichuan earthquake, which had hit early in the morning our time. He was not-so-kindly made aware of the earthquake from a comment made by another customer of the restaurant, which was so profoundly disgusting that I won’t repeat it on this blog. Mr. T and his brother at that point had no idea how close the earthquake was to ZZ, but even so my BIL was concerned that Mr. T was going to go over and give the guy what-for. Mr. T, for his part, was just glad that I wasn’t there to hear the comment.

And so since that time, I’ve had in my mind a running list of places where I’m not likely to go because of outright racism; certainly that particular McD0n@ld’s, although I’m not likely to be at a McD0n@ld’s anyway. Come to think of it, I haven’t had much of a desire to go Lake Geneva, either. A certain restaurant in Rockford is on my list. And of course, the state of Arizona doesn’t look too welcoming.

And no, not all this racism is particularly directed to those of Chinese descent, although the comment from the McD’s asshat certainly was. But it doesn’t matter.

The Arizona immigration law is getting played here as a desperate plea for help by the Arizona government – certain to get repealed, and passed as a last-ditch effort only to bring attention to the need for immigration reform. I don’t buy that. The organizations behind SB 1070 are national and well entrenched. At least 10 other states are considering similar legislation. It may be that the absence of comprehensive reform from the federal government has provided a fertile ground for organizations like FAIR to push their legislative agenda, but I don’t think for one minute that they want this law repealed. They are serious about making this flavor of immigration law national policy.

And even if SB 1070 winds up being a crazy, one-off immigration bill that gets repealed, the atmosphere behind it is scary. More than one person has made comments to me that it doesn’t really matter for us, for my family. Afterall, ZZ is legal. He’s a US citizen. All that is true, and yet, he’s still an immigrant. His skin is not white. We are still a mixed-race family. And this kind of bill reinforces that us vs. them mentality. It makes that kind of mentality okay. And guess what?

“We”, my family, my child, are “them”.

The people behind those comments aren’t trying to be callous or indifferent, either. I just think that sometimes they don’t fully appreciate the temperature of the race/immigration debate. After all, our hometown hero is Barak Obama. My own neighborhood is extremely, and peacefully, diverse. Clearly, we fit in around here, but I’m always aware of places where we don’t.

It’s that us vs. them kind of mentality that brought about that comment 2 years ago at McD’s. I can’t make generalizations, but I assume that this particular guy would be behind laws like SB 1070 given his disdain for the Chinese. How ironic it is, then, that he made that comment in a restaurant he probably frequents for its cheap prices. Prices that are born on the backs of the undocumented and first generation immigrant workers that harvest the ingredients for cheap fast food, and on the workers of foreign factories that churn out those stupid plastic kid’s meal toys – one of the biggest marketing ploys for the fast food industry.

And the worst part about that McD’s comment? It is foremost in my mind whenever we venture outside of our “safe” little area. It’s what I think of when we walk into an all white room. I hate that.

→ 2 CommentsCategories: Adoption · Gotta Rant

Mother’s Day Present, 3 Days Early.

May 6, 2010 · 2 Comments

We are in a strict cost-cutting mode here at Chez Ni Hao. Big time budgeting. Eating out is restricted to a once-a-week affair. I tend to opt for Thursday nights – Fridays are too hectic and crowded at restaurants, and I’m usually lacking energy for cooking by the time Thursday rolls around anyway. Also, left-overs on Friday night can be perked up with a later night treat of, say, popcorn, which is something we don’t have time to do on a school night.

So tonight was our night out, and our waitress introduced herself as having the same name as me. To which, ZZ got all jittery and giggly, saying things like, “Ooooh, that’s your name! Tell her! TELL HER!!!” Finally she walked away, and I asked ZZ to say my name because he has this cute little way of saying it that turns the three sylables into four.

He thought I asked him to spell my name, and so he looked at me like I had lost my mind and said, “M-O-M!”

He doesn’t know how to spell a ton of words yet, but by George he knows that one, and has an attitude about it to boot. It’s the attitude that I love the most.

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An Anniversary

May 5, 2010 · 2 Comments

Today is Cinco de Mayo, but it also is the four-year anniversary of sending our paperwork to China (DTC), and our two-year anniversary of receiving the conditional approval from China for ZZ’s adoption (PA). Freaky coincidence, that.

I can fairly be described as super-duper cautious. During those years of waiting, I never bought a thing in preparation for our theoretical child. The what-ifs where too much for me. But the day after we received our PA, I bought a wee little pair of shorts and matching shirt. It was a monumental purchase.

These days, ZZ picks out his own clothes at the store. The outfit above (shorts and shirt) is a favorite recent purchase. The boots are his “super power” shoes. And he admires the eye glare strips that athletes wear, and so he fashions his own with post-it note flags. Don’t ask me about the green socks – I have no clue as to the purpose behind those. That first outfit is still precious to me, but this outfit makes me smile.

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Hooky

April 28, 2010 · 2 Comments

Last week we played hooky from school and work and took a family trip to the zoo. The next day I worked the book fair at ZZ’s school. When his class came into the fair, his teacher came up to me and after saying hi, the first thing she said was, “Did you guys go to the zoo yesterday?” Busted!

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Wordless Wednesday – 04/21

April 21, 2010 · Leave a Comment

Join Wordless Wednesday at 5minutesformom.com.

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Tackle

April 21, 2010 · 4 Comments

Tackle could refer to either of two things at our house: fishing gear, or football. This past Sunday, it was of the contact sport variety.

→ 4 CommentsCategories: Bits and Pieces · Photography

No Answers

April 15, 2010 · 8 Comments

About 72 hours after we returned from China, our adoption agency was pestering me to do our one month home visit. The social workers wound up coming out 4 days later. I remember that ZZ was sitting on my lap quietly. He refused any interaction with the social workers. This wasn’t surprising since they were both female, and not only was ZZ wary of strangers, but he was extra cautious with females. They asked the normal questions: how is he sleeping & eating, how is his energy level, etc. Ask, check. Ask, check.

“Any concerns?” they asked. Well, yeah. No direct eye contact. Night terrors. No reaction to pain. No crying, even when it would be appropriate. Fits of rage. The eye contact concerned me the most, I told them. He was beginning to form a bond with Mr. T, but he was generally rejecting any interaction with me. The fact that he was sitting on my lap was actually astounding to me. (Of course, that way he wouldn’t have to look at me.) I spoke of my concern about how our attachment would progress at this rate.

“Wow,” said social worker #1. ”You seem to know a lot about attachment!”

“Well, aren’t I supposed to?” I replied.

“Well, yeah. But you would be surprised at how many parents don’t know anything.”

And my first reaction to that was how stupid it was that parents wouldn’t have attachment concerns on their radar. And then I got angry at the agency all over again (they, especially the branch office, had pretty much sucked up until that point). What’s more damning – the fact that the parents don’t know or the fact that the agency didn’t teach them? Wasn’t that their job?

I asked for an updated list of attachment therapists in the area – the list I had was 3 years old. Social worker #1 happily said she would send it out. Two days later, I got a letter saying that the branch was closed effective immediately. I never got that list.

I’m assuming that anyone reading this knows about the Russian adoption disruption. If not, Google it. And then read this piece that a friend posted on Facebook yesterday. Go ahead.

{elevator music}

Again, my first reaction to this story is shock and anger. Tons of anger. Sending a 7-year-old back, alone, without pursuing intervention or therapy or any help whatsoever. After six short months, no less. But reading the piece on Slate struck a chord with me.

I remember one afternoon in particular. We’d been home for maybe 5 or 6 weeks. Mr. T was golfing after work. ZZ had a definite bewitching hour between 4:00 and 5:00, where he would be extra ramped up. Any slight provocation could tip him into a full on rage. And on that particular afternoon something did, and we entered 2 hours of sheer, unadulterated hell.

During those periods of rage, I tried to hold him as much as I could. Not necessarily for therapeutic reasons, but mostly out of needing to protect him from injuring himself by head-banging, and also out of needing to protect myself and the house from him throwing things. And, oh, he was strong. He may have been 4 years old and all of 29 pounds, but he was strong. This particular time, he was screaming at the top of his lungs for his mama. And just as the writer of that Slate piece said, I wasn’t the mama he was screaming for. If we had the windows open, I’m sure someone would have called the police. This was blood curling, desperate screaming. For one and a half hours.

Finally, he seemed to calm somewhat, and made the hand sign for a drink. I usually tried to give him something sweet after a rage – I had read somewhere that the sugar helped release endorphins that would aid in calming. This day, however, I was out of juice, and so I gave him water. I sat him on the kitchen counter in front of me so that he could drink. And he took the glass, and took one small sip. And then, while staring at me with a face devoid of any feeling or emotion, he proceeded to slowly and very deliberately pour the entire glass of water onto the floor. This was our first instance of prolonged eye contact.

I ignored the water on the floor, took the glass gently from him and set it down. I picked him up and took him over to the couch where he started to rage again, but this time with more sadness and tears. He cried himself to sleep while I held him, motionless. And that’s how Mr. T found us an hour later. And if he had tried, he would not have been able to pry ZZ from my arms. No one could have. I knew I couldn’t do much for him, but I thought that if I held him, the demons might stay away a bit longer. I thought that if I held him, I would somehow choke off the fear that was engulfing me. I must have looked crazed.

And I shudder to think about what would have happened if he were 7 years old when that was happening. If he were stronger. If I hadn’t been able to hold onto him. If we lived in an area where our shuttered and worthless agency was the only game in town. If my husband wasn’t there to read the panic in my eyes, to see how scared I was, to assure me that ZZ would be okay if I let go of him. If PADS had gotten the best of me.

I don’t know what the answers are here. I only know the small brushes I’ve had with attachment issues and post-adoption depression, and it is truly frightening. Last night after I read that Slate piece, I crawled into bed with ZZ. He woke up and made that same motion for a drink – too sleepy he was to talk. I carried him into the bathroom to get two (!) drinks of water, and then carried him gently back to bed. He was asleep on my shoulder before I even set him down. I held his hand for a very long time before I drifted off to sleep next to him.

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