Posts tagged ‘Children’

I Still Didn’t Get to Swim at the Beach!

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For those who have read my book, you would know that my parents were very eccentric, and we traveled for most of my childhood. My most favorite thing to do was to stop at Miami Beach to play in the waves. Once a year. Visiting grandparents. Play in the waves, bobbing up and down with glee. I SO looked forward to this adventure! It wasn’t until I was grown up and driving myself that I learned that the state in which I live ALSO has waves. Go figure! A whole youth squandered on one beach thrill a year when it was only an hour a way from my own home.

Today, I took my kiddos to the beach, bringing my 18 month old granddaughter for the first time. Her chubby little toddler body had to be shoved inside a stretchy bathing-suit-with-a-lifejacket-built-in, in a method I suspect is similar to stuffing a sausage, pieces of it oozing out, only to be gently forced back into the casing. Once safely ensconced in her bathing wear, she made a beeline for the ocean. She may have tiny feet, but they sure run fast! She ran right in, and was shocked when the first wave came, knocking her gently on her little butt. It then became a game of chase the water out, turn around and run from the wave coming in. She kept trying to play in the water, but those darn waves kept coming back! Cold, bubbly, sand moving under her feet, waves. Finally, she got frustrated! She wanted to play in the water without being knocked over! She stood there with steely eyes, glaring at the water, and decided to take control of the situation. Strongly, and with determination, she shook her little finger at the waves and said in her loud toddler voice “STOP!”

AND LO AND BEHOLD…

they kept coming….

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To read about my childhood adventures traveling the country, please purchase my book, The Apple Tree: Raising 5 Kids with Disabilities and Remaining Sane on Amazon.

Ah…the Joys of Driving!

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When I was young, there were a few small amusement parks within a short drive. Ones where the “big” roller coaster had one big dip, nothing much else. And a carousel made in the 14th century, (or so it seemed judging by the music and the outdated horses.) My favorite ride was the “turnpike”. I would get into an impressive, albeit cheap imitation, of a real car. It had a real gas pedal and a real brake and a steering wheel that actually steered the car! (It also DIDN’T have a metal rod in the middle of the road to guide the driving, OR a seat belt!) I would proudly drive up and over the hills and around the bends, expertly stopping at the end without hitting the car in front of me. I had illusions of driving a “real” car when I was older.

And so it was with excitement that I agreed to go with Marie to drive a go cart. The same thing, right? Pretend little car. Gas, brake, steering wheel. Nice road to drive on, great memories!

I naively positioned myself down into the go cart, somewhat difficult to do because being limber is not one of my strong points. It took a while to put on the safety harness, which was invented by the same person who invented the Rubik’s cube. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get mine to fit until the embarrassing moment when the attendant helped make my harness larger to accommodate my…um…”assets”, (liabilities?)

Once properly positioned, I waved the thumbs up sign to my daughter who was in the car behind. I couldn’t turn around to see her, of course, being so strapped into the car not a muscle in my body would turn even a smidgen. But I heard Marie screech, letting me know she agreed it was a thumbs up situation.

Being first was amusing, because it took a while for me to push the gas pedal down hard enough to give the car gas. As everyone else anxiously waited behind me, I took off out of the gate at a crawl! As soon as I was on the “road”, hugging the right lane in fear, everyone else easily passed me.

This was SOOOO not the turnpike ride I remembered from my youth. It was very noisy and bumpy and the centrifugal force when turning corners necessitated me holding onto the steering wheel with all of my strength, (which got increasingly difficult as my hands started to sweat.) Worst of all, despite the restraints, my “assets” bounced up and down uncomfortably. The parents sitting in the viewing stands were silently laughing at me, of course. (It was at that point that I realized the PARENTS were WATCHING, not driving. Hmmmmm.)

Despite being the first one to take off, I was the last to arrive back at the gate. The final embarrassment was people watching as I tried to maneuver myself up and out of the car. An impossible task, until two of the attendants came over and took my hands and pulled me out.

Oh, no, not the turnpike ride of my youth. The whole thing was quite unsettling until I saw the joy on my daughter’s face, (and her laughter that she “beat me”.) She was thrilled that we had done it together. And it was worth every bumpy, humiliating moment.

The Words Every Adoptive Mom Longs to Hear…

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Like most other adoptive parents, I adopted children because I, selfishly, wanted children. (My theory was if I had children to care for, I really didn’t have a lot of extra time to clean the house. I would rather care for a child than mop the floor…) An adoptive parent should never think their child who is adopted is beholden to them. The child didn’t choose to be born into their circumstances, and they certainly didn’t ask to be adopted. And I have had more than my share of emotionally unstable children, (aren’t all teenagers unstable anyway?) and never expected them to be happy about my choice to adopt them, (or at least not to express that feeling.)

But I was wrong. I went to Marie’s award ceremony at school today. Most parents didn’t go, it was during the day and I’m sure it was hard for them to get off work. It was hard for me to get off work, too, and I will have to work on the weekend to make up for it, but I went because I wanted to support Marie, who had been doing phenomenally in school. Marie didn’t know I was coming, and she was sooooooooo excited! She ran over, gave me a big, wet, on the lips kiss, and put her head on my shoulder while she hugged me tightly. She was genuinely happy to see me, (and not just because she knew I would take her out for ice cream after the ceremony.) She dragged me to all of her friends, and announced to them in American Sign Language something that made my heart stop and tears come to my eyes. She said, “This is my mom. She wasn’t my real mom when she adopted me when I was 7 years old, and at first I didn’t like her, but she made me feel safe and she gave me food and clothes. Now I love her very much and she is my real mom because now I have a happy life and I know I will have a happy future. And someday I will have babies and make her a grandmother!” I am her mom, indeed!

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To read about our traumatic early years together, please purchase my book, The Apple Tree: Raising 5 Kids with Disabilities and Remaining Sane on Amazon.

Mothers, Help Your Sons Grow Up to be Fathers…

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My oldest son, Francis, grew up amongst a caravan of foster brothers and sisters. Specializing in newborns and infants who had been affected by prenatal drug exposure and addiction, our family was usually comprised of my husband and myself, Francis, his sister, Dinora, who had been adopted from Guatemala, and one or two foster babies. Despite the fact that Francis is severely visually impaired, he played an active role in child care, frequently holding a little one, feeding a bottle and changing diapers. When going to the mall, he and his sister would proudly push the double stroller. (With the 2 of them, he could be a pusher without having to see where he was going…) Throughout his childhood, sixteen foster babies lived with us, and caring for them was just a fact of life.

Francis is now an adult with a Ph. D. from Cambridge, a well paying dream job, a wonderful wife and a cozy home complete with a grill for grilling steaks and a lawn to mow. And, as of three weeks ago, a newborn baby. My week spent with his little family renewed my faith in the power of what is learned in childhood. Without even knowing it, I had trained Francis how to be a good father! He bundles his little girl up in a baby blanket, like I had bundled up those babies who were going through withdrawal. Newborns like being in a tidy bundle because they arrive with strong startle reflexes and without much control of their arms and legs. By pulling her arms and legs in close and securely wrapping a blanket around her little body, baby India can feel safe and secure. When she is awake and alert, Francis rocks her and sings songs to her, songs that he heard me sing so many years ago: “Itsy Bitsy Spider”, “Hush Little Baby,” and “The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round”. Even though she couldn’t possibly know the songs, the sound of his voice quiets her, and these songs are easy to sing. When he is expertly changing her diaper, he plays “This Little Piggy” with her toes, gently pulling her feet to his mouth to kiss. He exaggerates the “wee wee wee home” by tracing his finger from her toes to her chin, tickling her slightly before kissing her forehead. And while she sits in his arms on the couch, ready for bed, he reads her books with very large print; “Goodnight Moon”, and “Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed”.

On the evening before I left to fly home, he looked over at me and thanked me for giving him the opportunity to practice on all those babies years ago. All of his friends are having babies now, he said, and they are all in a tizzy. Because of the practice HE had, he is a confident parent and not at all nervous with India. I realized that by being a foster parent to infants, I was not only caring for little ones, but also nurturing parenting skills in my oldest sons, skills that will ensure he will be an awesome father!

I have repeated this post from last year. His adorable baby is now a year old, and his father’s day skills have continued to flourish!

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If you are interested in reading other stories about Francis, please purchase my book on Amazon.

With the Wind Just Flying Through My Hair

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Like many of you when driving, my mind races with thoughts of things I have to do, problems to solve, errands to run, crisis to deal with and so forth. Yesterday was different. As I was driving on a back road to get to a client’s home, I found myself following a gentleman, (or gentlewoman as I couldn’t tell; the only clue being the gray hair on the back of his/her head.) Because it was an awesomely beautiful day after a horrendous winter of being snowbound, the top to the MG convertible was down, sunlight shining happily on the occupant. Looking at the car, I recognized it as similar to the one bought with my own money when I was a teenager. My pride and joy that was purchased with my dad, a gentleman who did not generally interact with people, including me. Buying that car bonded us in a way that still brings tears to my eyes. The fact that HE always wanted such a car and possibly was living vicariously through me didn’t dampen my extreme love for him, even when he borrowed it for a joyride himself.

I loved driving my little MG, especially with the top down, and joyful memories flooded back to me while following the car. That was a happy, carefree time in my life. Not that I have regrets about anything I have done since then, including dealing with five difficult children, but remembering being young and without worries induced a sense of euphoria. My current thoughts and worries disappeared, and I became one with that little car. Instead of a stranger driving it, I imagined it was me. My own windows were rolled down so the wind was flying through my hair. My radio was playing songs from the 70s, turned up very loud so it could be heard through the whoosh of the wind. I sang along to the songs, surprised the words came to me so easily. And I was innocently, thoroughly happy without a care in the world.

When the car turned off onto a dirt road, I wanted to scream “No! Stop! Let me follow you!” but of course I didn’t. Instead, the happiness of this memory was etched in my mind. It still gives me a warm glow when I think about it, and I am smiling as I type this.

My thought is; it is easy to get overwhelmed with every day problems and issues. Making time for ourselves may be almost impossible. Look for unexpected joys and happiness, a grandfather walking down the street holding onto a toddler’s hand, the sunlight streaking through the clouds, the flowers bright and blooming, or an old memory that strikes you at unexpected times and makes you smile. Sometimes we have to make our own happiness in unconventional ways, but we all need to have joy in our lives. You just have to look for it.

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The Apple Tree: Raising 5 Kids With Disabilities and Remaining Sane
Authored by Linda Petersen
The link to the book:
https://www.createspace.com/5321986?ref=1147694&utm_id=6026

Cup of Coffee, Anyone?

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My son, Steven, has somewhat struck out on his own with his infant daughter. He moved far away from home…across the street to the small house my mom used to live in. It is a great use of the house as he has a “convenience store” across the street, OUR house, which is VERY convenient because he has neither money nor car.
Thinking as an adult, Steven bought a used Kuerig coffee maker. Using those little coffee cups to make coffee can be quite expensive for someone who has limited money. He came over the other morning, and looked at me with his puppy dog, young adult trying to be grown up, eyes. He was out of coffee! Could I help? Sure! I had about 10 jars of instant Maxwell House coffee that I’d purchased for $2.50 at the local Walgreens. Each jar made a zillion cups of coffee. He looked at it quizzically; for his Kuerig? Sure! I handed him a little coffee holder for his device, and showed him how to put a spoonful of coffee granules in it. Off he went happy, none the wiser that he could have made the same cup of coffee with boiling water instead! Someday, when I have a lot of money to buy coffee, I will explain the difference to him. In the meantime, grown up Steven can have his cup of coffee in the morning without it breaking the bank!

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The Apple Tree: Raising 5 Kids With Disabilities and Remaining Sane
Authored by Linda Petersen
The link to the book:
https://www.createspace.com/5321986?ref=1147694&utm_id=6026

She Looks Just Like Me!

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My children who are adopted are of mixed races, which has instigated a lot of joking over the years about how much we are like each other.

Three of my children have brown eyes, just like me! Two have blue eyes, just like their dad! Amazing, just like each other!

All of us love ice cream, especially cookie dough! What are the odds?

Swimming is something we have in common, (mostly because we live on a lake.) Dinora was able to swim by the age of 18 months old. She used to jump off the side in the deep end of the community pool with me. Everyone kept saying it was dangerous being so deep. But she was so tiny that even if she jumped off the lower end she wouldn’t be able to touch the bottom, so what was the difference. All of my children are natural swimmers.

Three of my children are creature lovers, anything from earth worms to boa constrictors to the every day dog, cats and bunnies.

With the exception of me and their dad, everyone loves scary movies. (Don’t know where they got THAT from, I hide under the pillow and shake if I even hear an eerie chord.)

With all of these similarities, of COURSE we are related! And so we have built MY family…

Now they are building theirs. Francis has a one year old daughter who looks JUST LIKE HIM, (minus the vision impairment!) Dinora has a young daughter who looks JUST LIKE HER, (with the exception of reddish hair, taking after her Irish dad.) And now Steven has a baby daughter who looks JUST LIKE HIM! All of the similarities we fostered as a family cannot compare to the fact that their flesh and blood look similar to them. But that is not what they focus on. They continue to bond over similarities…Steven’s daughter really loves animals and strawberries, she MUST be his daughter! And Dinora’s daughter is a little diva, enjoying make-up and nail polish, (so much like her diva mom.) Francis’s daughter loves vanilla pudding! And MUSIC! Go figure!

The truth is, family is not what is built by flesh and blood, but by common interests, tastes, and a whole lot of love. Of COURSE we are all related, we are a family!

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The Apple Tree: Raising 5 Kids With Disabilities and Remaining Sane
Authored by Linda Petersen
The link to the book:
https://www.createspace.com/5321986?ref=1147694&utm_id=6026

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