Ill Stand By You

When I was in college--long before I became a mother--I started nannying for a great family in NYC.  My charge, Justine, was just 10 months old when I started watching her, and we became very close over the few years I saw her almost daily.  In fact, she and her mom both wrote letters of recommendation for my India dossier when I adopted Rahul. (And Justine is just finishing her freshman year in COLLEGE!)

Anyway, one day when Justine was about 3 or 4 years old, I took her to the playground.  And as I sat watching her climb the monkey bars, I noticed another little girl eyeing Justine's hand.  It was right where she wanted to step and instead of asking Justine to move her hand I saw her make the decision to step right on the offending hand!  Her eyes narrowed as she put all of her weight on her foot and twisted it back and forth, smushing my little friend's hand.  Justine turned her head toward me and her eyes filled with tears and before I knew it I had leapt off the bench and was snatching Justine off the playground, scolding the hand smusher and racing out of the park.  I had no idea what had just taken over my body, but it was a strange, strong force I have come to know as Maternal Protection.

Of course, I have experienced it many times with my son, and I have often been frightened at its strength.  It completely take over your body and you feel as though you could actually cause major damage to someone.  I suppose it is an instinct placed in our bodies to protect our young.  And on Mother's Day this year I found myself really moved to understand that God, as our mother (as well as our father) feels this same fierce Maternal Protection over us.  There is something extremely comforting and profound in that for me--making me feel both safe and humbled that I get to share in this divine quality.

So I'm giving you fair warning.  Do not mess with my kid.

Hard Day

How can I describe this day?  I spent the day talking with doctors about my son.  Hallelujah, I finally found a psychiatrist who would see us urgently and who understands the particular issues we are dealing with.  It is harrowing to encapsulate my son's life and experiences into a one hour session.  I'm so grateful I met with our therapist first.  He has been working with us (and I mean--In The Trenches) for 1 1/2 years and I didn't have much good news to tell him today. The last 2 months have been really bad.  I really can't go into details and also I don't want to.  Its too private and too painful.  But believe me, it has been a struggle in just about every way you can imagine.  Prayerfully, this dr. I met with today will have some new solutions for us.  At the end of our very difficult session today, Bob, my therapist, told me something that stopped me in my tracks for a moment.  He has lots of experience in adoption issues and is an adoptive father himself so I feel like he really knows of what he speaks.  And he always has nice, encouraging words to me at the end our our session, and today as he was encouraging me, he said he didn't think most families in our situation would have made it as far (meaning lasted as long) as ours.  In other words, most people in my situation would have disrupted the adoption or put their child in a facility.  Most people outside of the world of adoption probably think of those solutions as heartless, but to many of us, they are sometimes the best option for the child and the family at large.  I personally have never considered disruption (that's when you work with your agency to "send the child back" to their orphanage or to a foster family) but I have no judgement for those that do (in a loving, careful way--not flying them back to Russia with a note).  Traumatized children are challenging in ways you literally cannot imagine.  And as a single mom, I bear the weight alone.  And man its heavy.  I'm exhausted.

But always hopeful.

Little by Little

I had a dream last night that I was having a conversation with my tax preparer.  (If you've been following my blog, you know that I had been really disappointed by the way my last preparer handled a major tax credit I am eligible for.  Well, I switched to a highly recommended CPA and am confident that she knows what she is doing, but found out yesterday that I will still owe the government a little money.  So much for the large tax refund I was counting on!)  I haven't actually met her in real life; because I came to her so late in the season, I had to just drop off my papers and we've spoken on the phone a couple of times.  Anyway, in my dream, she was asking me why, since clearly I had been beaten up my life so much lately, I didn't take that as a sign that I should move out of NYC.  And I was really taken aback that she would step into my life so objectively and ask the question which I have been asking myself so often as of late.  Why, when I am getting nowhere with doctors, money or Rahul's education do I continue to stay here?  Is God really directing me to leave New York and move in with my parents until I can get my family on a better track? In my dream I answered her emphatically, NO.  I am sure that I should stay here.  I told her that there is a big difference between God shutting doors (which to me signifies that its time to move on and change direction) and a person falling down over and over and being called to rise up again.

I woke up and lay in bed pondering this idea.  Actually, I marveled at my unconscious self's wisdom!  I can't tell you how, exactly, but there is a definite difference between a door being closed and stumbling through trials.  And I know I am meant to press on in my present circumstance.  There are just enough positive signs to keep me fighting.  Every Wednesday morning I get to talk and pray with my dear friend Jenny, who calls me without fail at 6am.  I told her about my dream and as I did, I thought of a phrase that I've seen in the Bible, "little by little".  I told her that I really believe that my blessings will increase little by little.  I am not going to get a big tax refund this year that will cover all my outstanding bills.  I will continue to work and grow my business (which is growing quickly!) and earn the money to pay things off, little by little.  Rahul will learn to read little by little.  We will find mental health solutions and adoptive family resources little by little.  Something about that idea really comforts me.

I was curious what the context of the phrase "little by little" was, Biblically, so I looked it up.  In one instance it refers to Israel's conquest of the promised land.  God told them He would drive out their enemies little by little, rather than all at once, because otherwise the wild animals would multiply around them (Deut. 7:22).  In another context God states that "he who gathers money little by little makes it grow" (Prov.13:11)  Something about that principal makes sense to me.  Maybe we value things more when we work for them.  Maybe we God differently when He aids us in helping ourselves, rather than pouring blessings in our lap.  Not sure exactly, but I think I'm about to find out!

Bang Your Head

Today I sat for a few hours in a mental health clinic in the Bronx.  And when I say, the Bronx, I don't mean Riverdale, where I live, which is very middle class and almost suburban.  I mean The Bronx--the way most people picture all of the Bronx to be.  And it really made me examine myself.

I was there as another leg in a long journey to get my son the mental health assistance he needs.  I never imagined it would be so difficult to find decent doctors and counselors that help children with mental health issues.  I've been holding on to our psychiatrist for dear life for one and a half years, even though he sucks and never calls me back, simply because I cannot find anyone else!  I have called pages and pages of doctors, met with some that made me want to run out the door screaming, and gotten nowhere.  Finally, last week, one called me back.  And they take my insurance.  And they scheduled an appointment with me.  Already they're 3 points ahead of everybody else. 

I realized what type of clinic it was, but I didn't think too much of it.  I was just grateful someone was willing to help me.  Honestly, I am a person who is pretty comfortable in almost any neighborhood.  People are people.  And the people I spent the morning with probably have more in common with me than the families in my neighborhood.  I am poor.  I am a single mom.  I am dealing with mental health issues in my home.  These are the things that bound me to my fellow patients today.  Most of the people registering for services today were referred through the court or through Child Services and didn't necessarily want to be there--they had to be there.  They were agitated, talking to themselves, mumbling obscenities, and I had several moments where I thought--really, is this the best care I can get for us?  And I had to check myself.  Because I don't really know anything about the care there yet.  I just registered today. I didn't meet with a doctor or discuss a plan of action for my child.  The facility was clean and looked new and the staff was friendly and helpful.  My moments of doubt were based only on the other patients there and their socio-economic status.  I had to remind myself that just because I was not sitting in a beautiful, private waiting room in a non-descript office building in Manhattan with several other well dressed mid to upper class people who were waiting quietly reading The Economist did not mean I didn't belong there just as much as everyone else.

Not a Creature is Stirring...

Friends are great.  I love being able to just spill my guts to my friends and its so empowering to me to just have them share in my sadness, embarrassment, joy, etc.  I would say that over the past couple of years there are friends who have literally kept me sane and been an absolute lifeline.  Its so great to just have someone listen and empathize. I don't feel like I always need them to actually SOLVE my problems, just be by my side as I go through the challenges. 

But every once in a while I long for someone to swoop into my life and just magically make my problems disappear.

About a month ago, I interrupted a mouse who was speeding into my room on his way somewhere, and began the Plague of Mice (appropriate for Passover, no?).  Apparently they began fumigating the garbage room, which is right below our apartment, and all the mice were desperately seeking shelter, so they began eating through all our walls and making their homes in my stove, my closets, my couch, even my bed.  I desperately tried to wage war with caulk and steel wool, but every time I thought I had closed up the last hole another mouse sauntered by me.  I was daily tearing apart my closets and furniture on a hunt to find where they were coming from and clean up their messes.  I am desperately afraid of mice and began to constantly feel sick to my stomach and was so jumpy that everywhere I went I thought I saw mice (in my car, in my clients' homes, on the street...).  Finally, I realized I was going to have to bump up to the next level of attack and borrow someone's cat to send a message to my invaders.  And as I thought through all of the cats I know, I had a revelation.  I wanted a cat of my own.

I have been longing to adopt another child, and that reality is several years and several thousand dollars away from happening.  So the idea of having another member of our family really appealed to me.  Also, I have met the most amazing cats lately at my clients' homes, and it has made me realize how cool cats can be.  But really what I wanted--what I NEEDED--was an ally.  Someone to swoop in and solve my problem.

Sport came to live with us a little over a week ago, and since he arrived I have not seen any mice or evidence of mice in our home.  Problem solved.  And he's really cool. He's black (my suggestion for his name was Spooky Mulder, but Rahul's "Sport" won out) and has an amazing personality, somehow meeting all our needs in the household.  For me he's a mouser, for Rahul he's a playmate, and for Baby Fish Mouth, he's a buddy.

Just somebody please tell me if I start to smell like a cat.

One Of Those Weeks

Sometimes I have these weeks that are just so insane that I can't even tell anyone everything because I really don't think they will believe me.  And I pride myself on maintaining balance despite having a lot on my plate.  I have pretty strict boundaries and guard my time with Rahul, but sometimes life just gets nutty.  So baseline, I've got single motherhood and my own business.  Add to that the new business that I'm trying to start and the fact that I have less than zero money.  All of that I can handle.


Problem #1. When you adopt internationally (and under some other conditions, too...) you are eligible for a large tax credit in the year the adoption is finalized.  I couldn't get Rahul's adoption finalized until a year after he had been here (due to crazy things like my lawyer filing in the wrong county and New York State losing my fingerprints) so I have had to wait a really long time to qualify for this tax credit.  I have tons of outstanding bills and I need seed money for my new business, so I have been LONGING for tax time so I can get this money.  Long story short, I found out last Thursday that I don't qualify for this money.  The way my tax preparer broke the news to me was by just kind of slipping it into conversation, as if I wouldn't notice. Uh, I did notice.  According to her calculations, not only was I not getting this huge chunk of money that I have spent 10 time over, I OWED money to the government!  Needless to say, I did not take her word for it, but I still haven't found the answer to the question of how I file for this credit and I'm now looking for a new tax preparer!

Problem #2. Mice. I have lived in my apartment for 2 years and have never seen one mouse or evidence of mice, until one just sauntered into my room a month ago. I don't do well with mice.  They creep me out to a very large degree.  I had the exterminator in my apartment the very next day but have literally been bombarded by mice for the past month.  They've gotten into my couch, every closet, my bathroom, mat kitchen, they're everywhere.  Every time I see one, or see where one has been, I become like a crazy person and get out the caulk gun and the steel wool and the plaster and seal up every crack and crevice I can find.  And just when I think I've seen the last of them and there can't possibly be any other way for them to get into my apartment, one goes running past me!  And its usually just as I'm putting Rahul to bed.  Luckily, he's not afraid of them, so he's been a big help to me.  But I realized last week that I think my son is going to be in therapy someday talking about how his mom was always crawling around on the floor with plaster all over her hands and vaccumming the living daylights out of every cushion and closet.  I try to make it fun--"It's like we're detectives!  Mice always leave us clues as to where they've been!"--but come on, there's nothing fun about watching mommy crying in a heap on the floor because the mice chewed through the bag of dog food. 

Problem #3. Dr. Hertz.  He's a psychiatrist and his name is Dr. Hertz--I guess I should have been warned.  My son needs medication for some severe mental health issues, and I need this doctor to moniter his health and prescribe the medication.  It is dangerous for him to be off this medicine, so its imperritive that I have good communication with the doctor.  But he never calls me back.  I will text and voice mail him 20 times for every 1 call back.  So I hear you, you're saying, Hey! Get another doctor, lady!  And I say to you that it is EXTREMELY hard to find a child psychiatrist who will call me back.  I have called probably 50 places and gotten exactly nowhere.  Anyway, Rahul has been having a rough time lately, emotionally, and he was about to go on vacation, so I needed to meet with Dr. Hertz and get a refill for his medication.  I know the drill, so I started texting and calling him a month ago.  Finally, he texted back saying he had an appointment for us at 6pm last Friday.  I took it and cancelled our other plans so we could be there.  Don't you know he stood us up.  And Rahul was supposed to go out of town the next morning for a week with no medicine.  So I texted him every five minutes, called him, called his collegues and ratted him out, and finally, as I'm driving Rahul to my parents' house, I get a 3 word text back from him "called in script".  No apology, no explanation.  Ugh.  I started the search for a new doctor this morning. Wish me luck.

Anyway, life goes on.   I am leaning on Jesus for my strength, and all is well.  I'm very focused on finding solutions for these problems.  I've put in calls and emails to tons of doctors and tax experts.

And I got a cat.

A (Wo)man Needs A Maid

OK. So I CHOSE to become a single mom, so don't always feel justified admitting how hard it is.  People, it. is. hard.  I'm pretty used to the pace by now (its been almost 2 years!), but one little thing can throw all my carefully constructed balance completely out of whack.  Last week I got sick and life fell apart.  I could not keep up with the demands of my business and my child and I just kept hanging in there thinking I'd feel better and everything would shake itself out.  But by Thursday afternoon I was done. I called my parents who live 7 hours away, and asked them to come help me for the weekend.  One great thing motherhood has done for me is that it has made me a little more comfortable asking for help.  (It has also, according to my mom, made me a lot more tolerant with loud chewing sounds.  She is constantly amazed when Rahul is chomping away at his food with his mouth open that I do not even notice.  I used to have a zero tolerance policy for loud chewing and would walk up to people and close their lips with my fingers or ask them to spit their gum out into my hand!!!)

So of course, my parents drove down to help me and I cannot explain how much weight lifted off my shoulders the moment they walked in the door.  My mom came carrying a pot full of ingredients to make chicken noodle soup and my dad chased Rahul around the yard while she cooked it up.  Over the weekend they managed to do all of my laundry, washed all of my dishes (I had several days' worth piled up), took my son to Target twice to buy birthday presents and took him to the actual birthday parties.  They also played several hours of hide and seek with Rahul (his current favorite game) and read him his bedtime stories (since my voice sounds like a cackling witch).  And they helped me do my grocery shopping and footed the bill!

They left this morning and I feel several hundred pounds lighter than I did a few days ago.  My head is clear in more ways than one and I can focus and concentrate on keeping my world spinning.