MY THANKSGIVING
By Justice Reisman, Age 7
November 22, 2012
My mom and dad help me cook turkey with stuffing inside the turkey. I am inviting people and friends to help us set the table to eat. We all talk about what we did that day. On Thanksgiving, we pass the turkey around the table for everybody to get. My cousins are sitting by me to eat. After dinner, we get to play a game outside. We play on the swing set. My grandma and grandpa are sitting by me to eat dinner. We have a feast around the table. On Thanksgiving, we find the wish bone to have what we want to have. My friends are sitting by me and my brother too.
Dear Justice,
A singer named Cindy Lauper, who's only a heartbeat away in the grand scheme of my history, but is so ancient in your eyes, you've probably never heard of her, sang a song once that started "Lying in my bed, I hear the clock tick and think of you. Caught up in circles, confusion is nothing new..."
I think about you a lot before I go to sleep at night, little girl. In many ways, you're adapting so well to this strange new world that was thrust upon you. More often than not now, our bedtime is a comforting ritual of stories and squirming, trying to keep your brother's feet off you as you listen to me read "No Matter What" or "In the Night Kitchen," two books that seem particularly spellbinding to you right now.
After we brush our teeth, you and your brother get ice water in a sippy cup, three Ritz crackers in case you get hungry in the night, and a repetitive round of tickling and giggles when the lights go out.
"Is your tickle tank full?" we ask you both, before we go downstairs.
It never is, so we fill it back up again. You like yours in a very precise order. Chin, armpits, collar bone, ribs, tummy, feetsies, and the inside of your knees (your ultimate weakness).
"Why do you call them feetsies?" you asked me last night.
"I don't know," I answered honestly. "Because it's a funny word, I guess. It makes me smile like you make me smile."
"Oh," you said, taking that in. "Okay."
I think you like me now. Or at least you're on your way. Gone are the dismal days where your uprooted rage was raw. Now it's replaced by new things. Wishes and grief. Fantasies and mourning. This is the period of our attachment where you express what you wanted in your heart but never got. Like the mom in your Thanksgiving story who's not really there, you cry the most for what you've lost.
"When children are moved, grief is a natural result, regardless of the quality of care given by the parent figure. Children do not grieve with strangers. They grieve with people who are known to them, sensitive to them, and consistently available to them. Typically, children are drawn into attachment, move into grief work, and then rebound in both joy and attachment." - Attaching in Adoption, Deborah D. Gray.
I'm glad you're moving into your grief work now, beautiful girl. I'm glad you trust us enough to feel safe enough to do it here now.
I totally get it.
I understand why when your brother takes the remote from you, it's now causing ten minutes of the saddest, loneliest, most heart-wrenching sobs I've ever heard from you. Or when you can't have cookies before dinner, you curl up into a ball on the floor and cry out in broken, lost anguish. It's not about cookies and remote controls and what's on the Tivo. It's about the hurt in your heart and a lifetime of loss an adult can barely articulate, much less a seven-year-old girl.
May your beautiful grieving continue, and may you rebound soon in joy and comfort and belonging.
It's completely normal, your therapist tells us, for you to create a fantasy world where a mom still exists for you. When your school work comes home, and you write about your mom and dad in your Thanksgiving essay, we're working hard to be neither hurt or alarmed. Kids your age like to fit the standard mold, she tells us. And if all the other kids are writing about Mom and Dad on Thanksgiving, so will you. And that's likely to continue for a while. And just between the three of us - Dad, Daddy and Justice - no offense taken.
Yesterday, we started filling out the paperwork with your case worker to become your legal parents forever. Our six months as your "foster-to-adopt home" or your "adoptive resource home" or however else they classify our half-year, pre-game limbo, are about to end. In a few more weeks, we can "file," which is such a clinically clerical word for such an important act of love on our part and trust on yours.
So, while it's gearing up to be an incredibly exciting time for Daddy and I, and in the months ahead, we'll be picking up speed, gaining momentum and finally, in our eyes, making progress toward that magical dream of waking up, like Pinocchio, and finally being a real boy, a real girl and a real family, we have to remember not to get ahead of ourselves...because you're still grieving, you're still adapting, and you still come first, in our hearts and our heads and our home.
In our rush to love you, we hope you know you'll always have our permission to take your time in loving us back. Find us in your own way, in your own time. We're not going anywhere.
Sometimes you picture me, I'm walking too far ahead.
You're calling to me, I can't hear what you've said.
You say, "go slow." I fall behind.
The second hand unwinds.
If you're lost, you can look and you will find me,
Time after time.
If you fall, I will catch you, I will be waiting,
Time after time.
"On Thanksgiving, we find the wish bone to have what we want to have. My friends are sitting by me and my brother too."
In the story you'll write someday in an easier year, Dad and Daddy will be sitting at that picture- perfect table in your mind's eye, too. It will be worth the wait, and we'll be delighted when you finally put us there. Until then, we won't be sad if your stories don't include us yet.
If you fall, we will catch you. We will be waiting.
You're worth it to us, always, and we'll give you our love.
Time after time.
"Time After Time" ©1984 Cyndi Lauper, from the Epic album "She's so Unusual"
Friday, November 30, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Vowel Movement
My daddy left home when I was three.
He didn't leave much to ma and me.
'Cept this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze.
Now, I don't blame him cause he run and hid,
But the meanest thing that he ever did
Was before he left, he went and named me Sue.
- Johnny Cash, "A Boy Named Sue," by Shel Silverstein
Justuce's birth mom, before she "departed the pattern" as my friend Miz Chappell would say, saddled our little girl with a hell of an interesting name. "Justuce," with a second "u" was given to her, theortetically I'm told, so she'd always remember how unique she was.
And if that wasn't enough to seal the deal -- and believe me, it was -- she also made her middle name Unique. And by that, I don't mean "her middle name is a bit rare." I mean it's Unique. As in the actual word.
Oy vey. Put that in your baby naming book and smoke it, huh?
I appreciate the sentiment, but I have to tell you, that's a hell of a personalized moniker to stamp on a little girl before you shuffle off to Buffalo. As far as "Who in the Class Has the Goofiest Name?" it's a guaranteed pass to the front of the line.
The following conversation actually took place between my mom and my cousin Danny.
Mom: Justuce's middle name is Unique.
Dan: Really? What is it?
Mom: It's Unique.
Dan: I know, but what is it?
Mom: It's Unique.
This Abbott and Costello flashback would have gone on ad infinitum, if it weren't for the fact that the clouds eventually cleared and Danny, God bless his healthy frontal lobe, figured out Who's on First.
This is all prelude to the fact that we've been very respectful of keeping J1's name intact. There is great debate within the adoption literature. Some camps insist that a child's first and middle names should remain firmly untouched to honor their important sense of self-worth, history and identity, while some say a changed first or middle name can be an important rite of passage, and help the child move into a smooth transition and a more confident, self-assured place in their new and changing world. Six of one, half dozen of the other. Psychiatrists, you should really get together and have a meeting on this someday.
We decided to play it safe and let J1 take the lead. Because honestly, our initial reaction before we met her, when we first saw her name in print, was "holy smokes, that name has got to go," upon which we were thoroughly and deservedly chastised by Adam's sister Jodi, who reminded us you just can't take the white-out to a little girl because you think her name is wonky. Too bad, dad. That's who she's been for seven years of her life, and by God, that's who she gets to be until she tells you otherwise. Thank you, Jodi. Slap deserved.
It became a moot point anyway, because as soon as we met Justuce, we were so instantly enamored with the unmatched individualtity of who she actually was, this beautiful defiant sandstorm, this hurricane, this little force of nature, the fact that she had a first and middle name that took a walk on the wild side seemed utterly appropriate and only so much icing on the cake. The girl's spirit is peerless, and her name, odd to us at first, seemed to fit her like a glove.
But here's what happens when names play out in the real world. A little girl who's seven years old only wants to be unique for so long. At seven, it's about being normal. It's about fitting in. When the uninvited albatross of adoption hangs heavily over your head and you have the added brand-oddity of two dads instead of a dad and a mom, it's also about dignity, and a little bit of self-control in your spiralling-crazy world. In short, it's about not having to feel weirder in any other way, or having to tell your friends why your name is spelled funny or correcting grown-ups over and over again. It's about just being regular for once. Unspectacularly, blessedly normal, with no conversations, no explanations, no red flags every time you write your name on a paper.
Justuce came home from school one day last week and let us know from now on she was going to be Justice, with an "i." She'd already started writing it the "new" standard way on her school papers and told her teacher she was going to change it. A quick communication with the school sealed the deal.
While she was at it, J1 also informed us she was ready to dump Unique. She'd been considering it for quite some time -- since she moved in with us, actually. All four of her foster sisters, when they were adopted, chose new middle names with their parents' help, and to Justice, this "right to pick a new name" was an important, normal step of being adopted. From the earliest days, we knew Unique's days were numbered, we just didn't know what it's replacement would be.
She tried on many hats. She rolled them around on her tongue, savoring, testing and tasting. For a while, it looked like we were leaning toward "Ashlen," one of her sisters in foster care. "Kaelen," "Jaeden," and "Madisen" were also in the mix. They were her other three foster sisters. It made me smile sweetly to think she was looking for a way to bring them with her into her new world and keep them with her for the rest of her days.
But in the end, she decided to go in a direction we didn't predict. She decided she liked "Rachel," which is her Hebrew name, given by her grandmother, and one she's had since birth. Her brother had no middle name when he came to us, so we gave him "Benjamin." Its Hebrew form, "Binyamin," will be his Jewish name. Justice decided, by making hers "Rachel," the set would be complete.
So, there you go folks.
Justin Benjamin Reisman.
Justice Rachel Reisman.
Both names will be legal and coming soon to an adoption finalization hearing near you. We're just starting to fill out our hearing paperwork with the case worker now. ETA, just a few more months to go.
So, now we're busy changing a bunch of pre-existing "U's" to some new-and-improved "I's." You'd be surprised how much there is to do.
For starters, I had to go to Michael's Crafts and Gifts and buy a big wooden "I" and paint it pink, to replace the big wooden "U" in the craft letters hanging on her bedroom wall.
Incidentally, there's something you will never hear a straight dad say, ever. "I had to go to Michael's Crafts and Gifts and buy a big wooden "I" and paint it pink." Just pointing that out.
I have to change her to "Justice" with family and friends, on family address labels, on her homework folder, on her little bench under the desk in her room, on her backpack strap, on her Wii character. God help me if I forget to change her Wii character.
It's kind of fun, this vowel movement. But it's even more gratifying that she's picked her identity. She's evolving into her new family by honoring her past, but telling all of us quite clearly, she won't be branded. She'll be in charge of who she is, thank you very much. And I like that.
He said: "Son, this world is rough
And if a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough
And I knew I wouldn't be there to help you along.
So I give you that name and I said goodbye
I knew you'd have to get tough or die
And it's the name that helped to make you strong.
He said, "Now you just fought one hell of a fight
And I know you hate me, and you got the right
To kill me now, and I wouldn't blame you if you do.
But you ought to thank me, before I die,
For the gravel in your guts and the spit in your eye
Cause I'm the (bleep) that named you "Sue."
Thank you, birth mom, but she'll take it from here.
She doesn't need the word "unique" in her name anymore to know that she is.
Justice Rachel Reisman will be just fine.
He didn't leave much to ma and me.
'Cept this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze.
Now, I don't blame him cause he run and hid,
But the meanest thing that he ever did
Was before he left, he went and named me Sue.
- Johnny Cash, "A Boy Named Sue," by Shel Silverstein
Justuce's birth mom, before she "departed the pattern" as my friend Miz Chappell would say, saddled our little girl with a hell of an interesting name. "Justuce," with a second "u" was given to her, theortetically I'm told, so she'd always remember how unique she was.
And if that wasn't enough to seal the deal -- and believe me, it was -- she also made her middle name Unique. And by that, I don't mean "her middle name is a bit rare." I mean it's Unique. As in the actual word.
Oy vey. Put that in your baby naming book and smoke it, huh?
I appreciate the sentiment, but I have to tell you, that's a hell of a personalized moniker to stamp on a little girl before you shuffle off to Buffalo. As far as "Who in the Class Has the Goofiest Name?" it's a guaranteed pass to the front of the line.
The following conversation actually took place between my mom and my cousin Danny.
Mom: Justuce's middle name is Unique.
Dan: Really? What is it?
Mom: It's Unique.
Dan: I know, but what is it?
Mom: It's Unique.
This Abbott and Costello flashback would have gone on ad infinitum, if it weren't for the fact that the clouds eventually cleared and Danny, God bless his healthy frontal lobe, figured out Who's on First.
This is all prelude to the fact that we've been very respectful of keeping J1's name intact. There is great debate within the adoption literature. Some camps insist that a child's first and middle names should remain firmly untouched to honor their important sense of self-worth, history and identity, while some say a changed first or middle name can be an important rite of passage, and help the child move into a smooth transition and a more confident, self-assured place in their new and changing world. Six of one, half dozen of the other. Psychiatrists, you should really get together and have a meeting on this someday.
We decided to play it safe and let J1 take the lead. Because honestly, our initial reaction before we met her, when we first saw her name in print, was "holy smokes, that name has got to go," upon which we were thoroughly and deservedly chastised by Adam's sister Jodi, who reminded us you just can't take the white-out to a little girl because you think her name is wonky. Too bad, dad. That's who she's been for seven years of her life, and by God, that's who she gets to be until she tells you otherwise. Thank you, Jodi. Slap deserved.
It became a moot point anyway, because as soon as we met Justuce, we were so instantly enamored with the unmatched individualtity of who she actually was, this beautiful defiant sandstorm, this hurricane, this little force of nature, the fact that she had a first and middle name that took a walk on the wild side seemed utterly appropriate and only so much icing on the cake. The girl's spirit is peerless, and her name, odd to us at first, seemed to fit her like a glove.
But here's what happens when names play out in the real world. A little girl who's seven years old only wants to be unique for so long. At seven, it's about being normal. It's about fitting in. When the uninvited albatross of adoption hangs heavily over your head and you have the added brand-oddity of two dads instead of a dad and a mom, it's also about dignity, and a little bit of self-control in your spiralling-crazy world. In short, it's about not having to feel weirder in any other way, or having to tell your friends why your name is spelled funny or correcting grown-ups over and over again. It's about just being regular for once. Unspectacularly, blessedly normal, with no conversations, no explanations, no red flags every time you write your name on a paper.
Justuce came home from school one day last week and let us know from now on she was going to be Justice, with an "i." She'd already started writing it the "new" standard way on her school papers and told her teacher she was going to change it. A quick communication with the school sealed the deal.
While she was at it, J1 also informed us she was ready to dump Unique. She'd been considering it for quite some time -- since she moved in with us, actually. All four of her foster sisters, when they were adopted, chose new middle names with their parents' help, and to Justice, this "right to pick a new name" was an important, normal step of being adopted. From the earliest days, we knew Unique's days were numbered, we just didn't know what it's replacement would be.
She tried on many hats. She rolled them around on her tongue, savoring, testing and tasting. For a while, it looked like we were leaning toward "Ashlen," one of her sisters in foster care. "Kaelen," "Jaeden," and "Madisen" were also in the mix. They were her other three foster sisters. It made me smile sweetly to think she was looking for a way to bring them with her into her new world and keep them with her for the rest of her days.
But in the end, she decided to go in a direction we didn't predict. She decided she liked "Rachel," which is her Hebrew name, given by her grandmother, and one she's had since birth. Her brother had no middle name when he came to us, so we gave him "Benjamin." Its Hebrew form, "Binyamin," will be his Jewish name. Justice decided, by making hers "Rachel," the set would be complete.
So, there you go folks.
Justin Benjamin Reisman.
Justice Rachel Reisman.
Both names will be legal and coming soon to an adoption finalization hearing near you. We're just starting to fill out our hearing paperwork with the case worker now. ETA, just a few more months to go.
So, now we're busy changing a bunch of pre-existing "U's" to some new-and-improved "I's." You'd be surprised how much there is to do.
For starters, I had to go to Michael's Crafts and Gifts and buy a big wooden "I" and paint it pink, to replace the big wooden "U" in the craft letters hanging on her bedroom wall.
Incidentally, there's something you will never hear a straight dad say, ever. "I had to go to Michael's Crafts and Gifts and buy a big wooden "I" and paint it pink." Just pointing that out.
I have to change her to "Justice" with family and friends, on family address labels, on her homework folder, on her little bench under the desk in her room, on her backpack strap, on her Wii character. God help me if I forget to change her Wii character.
It's kind of fun, this vowel movement. But it's even more gratifying that she's picked her identity. She's evolving into her new family by honoring her past, but telling all of us quite clearly, she won't be branded. She'll be in charge of who she is, thank you very much. And I like that.
He said: "Son, this world is rough
And if a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough
And I knew I wouldn't be there to help you along.
So I give you that name and I said goodbye
I knew you'd have to get tough or die
And it's the name that helped to make you strong.
He said, "Now you just fought one hell of a fight
And I know you hate me, and you got the right
To kill me now, and I wouldn't blame you if you do.
But you ought to thank me, before I die,
For the gravel in your guts and the spit in your eye
Cause I'm the (bleep) that named you "Sue."
Thank you, birth mom, but she'll take it from here.
She doesn't need the word "unique" in her name anymore to know that she is.
Justice Rachel Reisman will be just fine.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Thursday, November 15, 2012
I Rollercoaster for You
The World's 5 Fastest Rollercoasters
5. (tie) Superman, 100 mph, Six Flags Magic Mountain, Valencia, California
5. (tie) Tower of Terror, 100 mph, Dreamworld, Queensland, Australia
4. Dodonpa, 107 mph, Fuji-Q Highland, Yamanashi, Japan
3. Top Thrill Dragster, 120 mph, Cedar Point, Sandusky, Ohio
2. Kingda Ka, 128 mph, Six Flags Great Adventure, Jackson, New Jersey
1. Formula Rossa, 149 mph, Ferrari World, Yas Island, Abu Dhabi, UAE
The days go by so fast, a lot of this feels like a dream. Or a race. Or too many cups of coffee (even though I gave up the caffeine years ago).
I haven't written here since October 21st. If John Lennon is to be believed, and hey, he always was, life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.
Let's see. What's in the daytimer since you and I last met?
October 21 - Brinkley's birthday party, Madeleine's tea party and cheerleading pep rehearsal in the school theatre.
October 23 - Both kids to Dr. Weber for flu shots. Justuce opted for the nasal mist, Justin got brave and went for the needle. The doctor is concerned ADHD and ODD meds she prescribed on October 3 are still being withheld due to DFS and legal red tape.
October 24 - The kids met their great-grandfather and he gave them roller skates. Plenty of bruised tailbones and tushies ensued on days 1-4, but boy you should see them go now.
October 25 - Kids need navy blue skirt or shorts today. Pep rally in the school theatre. J2 occupational therapy.
October 26 - No school for Nevada Day. K-1 playdate in Paseos Park. Later in the day, Emmy's birthday party at Susan and Joel's. Wear a costume.
October 27 - 12 noon playdate with We Are Family. 4pm occupational therapy. 5pm Gala for Temple Sinai.
October 28 - Playdate with Lily and Lucas and Aunt Ingrid.
October 29 - Swim unit starts at school. J1 swimsuit in backpack. J2 swimsuit in backpack. 5 pm chili dinner with some of the We Are Family moms and dads and kids.
October 30 - Justin needs jeans. Pick up Justuce at Staci Green's. 4 pm physical therapy.
October 31 - Pick up Aunt Erin's keys at the apartment office. Kitchen lights fixed 12-2, Mr. Electric. Justuce swimsuit. Adam Yiddish class (missed again, most likely). Trick-or-treating with Shayna, Howard, Jahslyn and Susie. Pounds of candy collected. Frightening.
November 1 - Adam pickup CPAP machine. Sleep, finally! Family therapy with Miss Hannah for the first time. J2 occupational therapy. Justin home sick from school. Coughing.
November 2 - Adam, Dr. Handler. Ryan, Adoption Exchange fundraiser, volunteer photography. Car accident on the way home. Someone heading the other way pulled a U-turn right in front of me. No luck getting the kids into Dr. Kithas, the psychiatrist who can "re-prescribe" ADHD meds since the pediatrician's are being withheld. He is not taking new patients.
November 3 - Double b'nai mitzvahs, Altman and Bloom. Still moonlighting photography on the weekends. Still trying to make ends meet. J2 occupational therapy.
November 4 - Clocks back. Erin and Jaime leave Waupaca.
November 5 - Justuce, swim unit. Justin, Dr. Camp, orthopedist. Femoral anteversion diagnosed. He says no on corrective foot orthotics. His physical therapist strongly disagrees and wants us to go behind his back and make Justin wear straps. More battling medical headaches. No answer from DFS. Family and individual therapy with Miss Hannah.
November 6 - Justin sent home from school again. Still coughing. Emergency visit to the pediatrician. Double ear infection and allergic sinitus. Antibiotics, seasonal allergy medication and bronchospasm nebulizer prescribed. J2 physical therapy.
November 7 - Ryan to Dr. Wolfson, follow-up on persistent migraines since the children arrived. MRI brain scan next step to rule out anything other than severe stress. Aunt Erin and Aunt Jaime arrive. Hallelujah. Unload moving truck. 30 minute time limit. Move furniture inside. File insurance claim with Sentry. Call appraiser.
November 8 - Insurance appraisal. J1 to grandmas. J2 to occupational therapy. Call Stephanie at Viking Insurance. Work out accompanyist problem for wedding.
November 9 - Parent teacher conferences. She is a model student. He "has a heart of gold but can't sit still." Early dismissal from school.
November 10 - Occupational therapy. The kids have now been diagnosed, between them, with nine medical or psychological conditions since we got them on June 8th. This is not counting coughs and ear infections and "normal" stuff like that.
November 12 - Adam, colonoscopy to follow-up on significant weight loss and loss of appetite since children arrived, to rule out anything other than severe stress. Early school dismissal. Veterans day. Children wear red white blue to school. Robden from insurance company; car will be totaled. $2,300 if they take it, $2,000 if we keep it. Have to keep it, dents and all. Need it for therapy appointments. Family therapy with Miss Hannah.
November 13 - Physical therapy.
November 14 - J2 follow-up with Dr. Weber. Coughing better. She is still extremely concerned we are having issues with DFS and the courts not authorizing ADHD and ODD meds. She says the delay is doing the children a "disservice." Our repeated contacts to DFS to secure court approval all month for their medication draw nothing but "we're working on it, please be patient." 42 days of withheld medication now. How much "patience" is reasonable before this is just vast irresponsibility on someone's part?
November 15 - Adam, Dr. Becker. Me, up at midnight, writing Family Services again, wondering why after 42 days and repeated requests for resolution, we can't get this medication issue straigtened out. Then switching gears to my own ongoing headaches (literally), I pre-certify my MRI with Aetna, call Steinberg lab to get it scheduled for November 23, two days after the wedding. As annoying as five months of constant migraines have been, I still giggle at this, because now when people say "where are you guys honeymooning," I can tell them, "Steinberg Diagnostic," and it has a certain ring to it.
And that, folks, in a nutshell, is why I haven't been writing for three weeks. Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.
And the kids are beautiful. Still complicated as ever. Still challenging as ever. Still frustratingly untreated as ever. They have taken to Aunt Erin and Aunt Jaime like moths to a flame, peppering them with hugs and kisses, smothering them with love, while we stand on the sidelines, so remarkably glad they get this. So remarkable sad it doesn't come to us.
After watching Justin wrap himself in Aunt Jaime's arms the first two days, I cried in the car a little - I didn't expect to, but it came out of nowhere - and I said to Adam, "I just have to keep reminding myself this is so good for him, because it hurts so much (in a beautiful way) to watch it from my usual place, arm's length, sidelines, still.
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy.
I wish you out of the woods and into a picture with me.
I wish you over the moon. Come out of the question and be.
I rollercoaster for you. Time out of mind must be heavenly.
It's all enchanted and wild. It's just like my heart said it was gonna be.
- Nickel Creek, "Out of the Woods"
We carry on, dear friends. We carry on.
5. (tie) Superman, 100 mph, Six Flags Magic Mountain, Valencia, California
5. (tie) Tower of Terror, 100 mph, Dreamworld, Queensland, Australia
4. Dodonpa, 107 mph, Fuji-Q Highland, Yamanashi, Japan
3. Top Thrill Dragster, 120 mph, Cedar Point, Sandusky, Ohio
2. Kingda Ka, 128 mph, Six Flags Great Adventure, Jackson, New Jersey
1. Formula Rossa, 149 mph, Ferrari World, Yas Island, Abu Dhabi, UAE
The days go by so fast, a lot of this feels like a dream. Or a race. Or too many cups of coffee (even though I gave up the caffeine years ago).
I haven't written here since October 21st. If John Lennon is to be believed, and hey, he always was, life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.
Let's see. What's in the daytimer since you and I last met?
October 21 - Brinkley's birthday party, Madeleine's tea party and cheerleading pep rehearsal in the school theatre.
October 23 - Both kids to Dr. Weber for flu shots. Justuce opted for the nasal mist, Justin got brave and went for the needle. The doctor is concerned ADHD and ODD meds she prescribed on October 3 are still being withheld due to DFS and legal red tape.
October 24 - The kids met their great-grandfather and he gave them roller skates. Plenty of bruised tailbones and tushies ensued on days 1-4, but boy you should see them go now.
October 25 - Kids need navy blue skirt or shorts today. Pep rally in the school theatre. J2 occupational therapy.
October 26 - No school for Nevada Day. K-1 playdate in Paseos Park. Later in the day, Emmy's birthday party at Susan and Joel's. Wear a costume.
October 27 - 12 noon playdate with We Are Family. 4pm occupational therapy. 5pm Gala for Temple Sinai.
October 28 - Playdate with Lily and Lucas and Aunt Ingrid.
October 29 - Swim unit starts at school. J1 swimsuit in backpack. J2 swimsuit in backpack. 5 pm chili dinner with some of the We Are Family moms and dads and kids.
October 30 - Justin needs jeans. Pick up Justuce at Staci Green's. 4 pm physical therapy.
October 31 - Pick up Aunt Erin's keys at the apartment office. Kitchen lights fixed 12-2, Mr. Electric. Justuce swimsuit. Adam Yiddish class (missed again, most likely). Trick-or-treating with Shayna, Howard, Jahslyn and Susie. Pounds of candy collected. Frightening.
November 1 - Adam pickup CPAP machine. Sleep, finally! Family therapy with Miss Hannah for the first time. J2 occupational therapy. Justin home sick from school. Coughing.
November 2 - Adam, Dr. Handler. Ryan, Adoption Exchange fundraiser, volunteer photography. Car accident on the way home. Someone heading the other way pulled a U-turn right in front of me. No luck getting the kids into Dr. Kithas, the psychiatrist who can "re-prescribe" ADHD meds since the pediatrician's are being withheld. He is not taking new patients.
November 3 - Double b'nai mitzvahs, Altman and Bloom. Still moonlighting photography on the weekends. Still trying to make ends meet. J2 occupational therapy.
November 4 - Clocks back. Erin and Jaime leave Waupaca.
November 5 - Justuce, swim unit. Justin, Dr. Camp, orthopedist. Femoral anteversion diagnosed. He says no on corrective foot orthotics. His physical therapist strongly disagrees and wants us to go behind his back and make Justin wear straps. More battling medical headaches. No answer from DFS. Family and individual therapy with Miss Hannah.
November 6 - Justin sent home from school again. Still coughing. Emergency visit to the pediatrician. Double ear infection and allergic sinitus. Antibiotics, seasonal allergy medication and bronchospasm nebulizer prescribed. J2 physical therapy.
November 7 - Ryan to Dr. Wolfson, follow-up on persistent migraines since the children arrived. MRI brain scan next step to rule out anything other than severe stress. Aunt Erin and Aunt Jaime arrive. Hallelujah. Unload moving truck. 30 minute time limit. Move furniture inside. File insurance claim with Sentry. Call appraiser.
November 8 - Insurance appraisal. J1 to grandmas. J2 to occupational therapy. Call Stephanie at Viking Insurance. Work out accompanyist problem for wedding.
November 9 - Parent teacher conferences. She is a model student. He "has a heart of gold but can't sit still." Early dismissal from school.
November 10 - Occupational therapy. The kids have now been diagnosed, between them, with nine medical or psychological conditions since we got them on June 8th. This is not counting coughs and ear infections and "normal" stuff like that.
November 12 - Adam, colonoscopy to follow-up on significant weight loss and loss of appetite since children arrived, to rule out anything other than severe stress. Early school dismissal. Veterans day. Children wear red white blue to school. Robden from insurance company; car will be totaled. $2,300 if they take it, $2,000 if we keep it. Have to keep it, dents and all. Need it for therapy appointments. Family therapy with Miss Hannah.
November 13 - Physical therapy.
November 14 - J2 follow-up with Dr. Weber. Coughing better. She is still extremely concerned we are having issues with DFS and the courts not authorizing ADHD and ODD meds. She says the delay is doing the children a "disservice." Our repeated contacts to DFS to secure court approval all month for their medication draw nothing but "we're working on it, please be patient." 42 days of withheld medication now. How much "patience" is reasonable before this is just vast irresponsibility on someone's part?
November 15 - Adam, Dr. Becker. Me, up at midnight, writing Family Services again, wondering why after 42 days and repeated requests for resolution, we can't get this medication issue straigtened out. Then switching gears to my own ongoing headaches (literally), I pre-certify my MRI with Aetna, call Steinberg lab to get it scheduled for November 23, two days after the wedding. As annoying as five months of constant migraines have been, I still giggle at this, because now when people say "where are you guys honeymooning," I can tell them, "Steinberg Diagnostic," and it has a certain ring to it.
And that, folks, in a nutshell, is why I haven't been writing for three weeks. Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.
And the kids are beautiful. Still complicated as ever. Still challenging as ever. Still frustratingly untreated as ever. They have taken to Aunt Erin and Aunt Jaime like moths to a flame, peppering them with hugs and kisses, smothering them with love, while we stand on the sidelines, so remarkably glad they get this. So remarkable sad it doesn't come to us.
After watching Justin wrap himself in Aunt Jaime's arms the first two days, I cried in the car a little - I didn't expect to, but it came out of nowhere - and I said to Adam, "I just have to keep reminding myself this is so good for him, because it hurts so much (in a beautiful way) to watch it from my usual place, arm's length, sidelines, still.
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy.
I wish you out of the woods and into a picture with me.
I wish you over the moon. Come out of the question and be.
I rollercoaster for you. Time out of mind must be heavenly.
It's all enchanted and wild. It's just like my heart said it was gonna be.
- Nickel Creek, "Out of the Woods"
We carry on, dear friends. We carry on.
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