Sunday, November 11, 2012

November, 2012: Zola

Every so often, I turn a corner in our house and I am surprised to see the dog standing there. And by that I mean I’m not just surprised the dog is in that particular room, or surprised that the dog found yet another shoe to chew up. For a moment, I am actually surprised we have a dog.
            My family never had a dog as I grew up and neither of my parents came from families with dogs. My dad has a skittish, jumpy reaction to dogs in general, and if he visits a home with a dog, his facial reaction as the dog comes to greet him — terror mixed with false nonchalance—is usually enough to prompt the owner to put the dog away. Bill’s late mother had allergies to animals that were so severe that one evening she and the family had dinner at the home of someone with a dog and she landed in the hospital that night with a severe asthma attack.
            So two years ago, when Jacob and Liam created a PowerPoint entitled Why We Should get a Dog and did a formal presentation for Bill and me after the girls went to bed, my first reaction was no.
            While I didn’t carry the fear of my dad or the allergies of Bill’s mom, I felt that my non-desire for a dog was reason enough not to get one. With four children and one husband, I felt I had enough creatures under my care. We have no houseplants because I believe that candles are equally decorative and do not need to be watered. I explained to the boys that I was afraid the work of a dog would fall to me. We live quite near to a natural pond, I reminded them. We occasionally can see a blue heron from our kitchen window. Isn’t that wildlife enough? I also pointed out the frogs, geese, and squirrels living nearby. Why have an animal inside the house when you can admire one from afar?
            The boys were not deterred, and to my alarm, Bill took their side--  suddenly (it seemed to me) developing a robust interest in dog research and offering to be the parent sponsor of the dog. If they didn’t live up to the dog chores they as they vowed in slides four through seven, the responsibility would fall to Bill, not me, he promised.
            And so I said yes. I said yes partly because our boys had never really asked for anything substantial before; partly because their PowerPoint was compelling (slides eight and nine summarized the therapeutic benefits of dog ownership for children who have been through trauma); and partly because I did not want to be known for the rest of my life as the mom who stopped the dog ownership.
            We have had Zola, a Portuguese water dog, a little more than a year now. My dad is still afraid of her. The boys have kept their end of the bargain, impressing me with early morning walks before school, wearing reflective vests and carrying flashlights when they have to walk her before the sun rises. Zola is sweet, quiet, athletic and always seems to be teething, based on what I find destroyed on the floor when I come home from work. She has dug holes in our yard, licked away tears, and has proven to be way more interactive with the family than the blue heron ever was.
            Zola is my biggest compromise. She is the first time my boys were allowed to drive a major family decision. And that’s why sometimes, when I turn a corner in the house, I am surprised to see Zola there. She is a reminder that usually, I’m in charge. Usually, decisions start and stop with me. Usually, I have the final say in the family. But not always. And that is a good thing indeed.

            Arf.

Sunday, November 4, 2012

November, 2012: Adoption, what do you think, Jacob?


When Jacob, now a senior in high school, was about 12 and his sister Teenasia was six, she convinced him to let her “do” his hair. Jacob sat patiently on the floor of the family room and watched TV as little Teenasia painstakingly parted his straight, fine, brownish hair into about ten sections and secured each one close to the scalp with a tiny rubber band. Occasionally, she’d use some African American hair gel —called grease—to capture the flyaway hair for a tighter look. 

When she was done, Jacob looked ridiculous, yet both he and Teenasia were extremely pleased with her work.

Our family just celebrated the one-year anniversary of Teenasia’s adoption. Teenasia first joined our family as a one-year-old foster daughter. After a little more than a year, she was taken from our family and placed with her biological father, where she lived for about 2 1/2 years. When she was just under five, Teenasia was detained from her father’s custody and brought back to us as foster daughter. Jacob was 11 at the time. She stayed just six months until the court once again decided her father should have another chance to try to be a parent. Just a year later, when Teenasia was six, a social worker called with news that Teenasia needed emergency placement in our home—with a no-contact order on her biological father.

I will never forget telling 12-year-old Jacob that a social worker would be delivering Teenasia for what would turn out to be the final time.

“Why?” He said, tears streaming down his face. “Why are they bringing her here—just to eventually take her away again? Why are they doing that to her? To us?”

I didn’t have an answer for him. I couldn’t say that this time it would be permanent, because I had lost all trust in the system that had failed to protect Teenasia for the past five years. I couldn’t say Teenasia would be all right, because I didn’t know if she would; she had endured so much. I don’t remember what I said, or if I said anything at all. I only remember that Jacob was blurry on the other side of my tears and I was surprised that his head already came up under my chin when I hugged him.

The childhood of all four of our kids has been punctuated by the grief and loss as well as the joy and readjustment that has accompanied Teenasia’s coming and going over the past decade. Jamie’s relatively quick adoption from the same foster care system made Teenasia’s ordeal all the more bewildering.

I have no doubt that the simultaneously painful and miraculous way we have become a family has had an influence on each one of my children. But I’m not sure I could tell you exactly how they are different because of what we have gone through together. For Liam, Teenasia and Jamie, it may be too early to ask.

But Jacob, at 17, can look back at the little boy he was when first Teenasia, and then Jamie joined our family. He is old enough to recognize pieces of his worldview that may have been shifted because of his sisters. Yet, amid the rush of homework, sports and endless laundry, Jacob and I don’t often have time to discuss topics of significance. I have rarely asked Jacob the question that underlies so much of my mothering: Jacob, how has the adoption of your sisters shaped you?  But now I will.


Tuesday, September 11, 2012

September, 2012: Jacob and Annemarie begin to column share

Jacob was six and Liam was three when I started writing my column in the Catholic Herald. Teenasia was a baby, living perhaps five miles away, part of struggling family I did not yet know. Jamie had not yet been born — her biological family was also struggling, unknown to me, on Milwaukee’s near-south side. My column was to be about God’s movement in family life and I named it Training Wheels.
            Looking back over my early columns, a theme was protection. I wanted to protect my boys from the pain and hurt of the world. My debut column was about Jacob receiving ashes on Ash Wednesday with his first grade class. I wrote about watching Jacob approach the teacher as she said, “Remember you are dust and to dust you will return.”  And this was my response, back in 2002: I recognized that I held in my heart the tiniest hope that this phrase wouldn’t be true for my son. That Jacob would somehow beat the system. That he wouldn’t suffer and die like the rest of us. That maybe, if my husband and I could just love him enough, dust-to-dust would not apply.
            While I did note, several paragraphs later, that if Jacob was to be a disciple, his life would need to include some of the suffering that discipleship requires, I remember a visceral feeling of wanting to hold Jacob tight; to wanting to never let him go. I remember forcing myself to write what I knew was true, even if I had difficulty believing that truth myself — that the goal, eventually, was not to be Jacob’s protector, but rather, to help him become the disciple he was called to be. I was very early in my process of stepping back as a parent and letting God lead. Perhaps my most noteworthy accomplishment that Ash Wednesday was that I didn’t actually leap up, run into the aisle and prevent Jacob from receiving ashes.
            And now, Jacob is 17 and a senior in high school. It seems only right that having had his childhood chronicled in both my column and my subsequent book, that he should have a few hundred words of his own. We agreed to work off a common theme each month and not show each other our writing until we both were finished. This month’s theme is “growing up.”
            I am sure Jacob won’t be writing about his first grade Ash Wednesday experience as he reflects on his upcoming transition in life. But for me, Jacob at the cusp of adulthood is causing all sorts of flashbacks to Jacob as a newborn or age six, or eleven. I look back and see Jacob becoming taller, smarter, more capable. But I also see myself— each year, moving a bit more from being my son’s protector to being his guide. Yes, a piece of me is still the mom of six-year-old Jacob who wants to hold on tight, but a bigger piece of me is ready to let him go — to share him.
            For I was right when I wrote 12 years ago that the world includes pain and hurt. And parents, as much as we can, should protect our very young children from most of this pain and hurt. But the protection we are called to offer isn’t protection for the sake of giving our children a cushy and problem-free life. We offer our protection so they are able to grow into adults who have the strength and foundation they will need in order to be the world’s next generation of healers; we offer the protection so our children can become the disciples they are called to be. We offer protection so that our children, in turn, may find the ones they are called to protect.
            You’re ready, Jacob. The training wheels are coming off. Pedal hard. Ride strong. Don’t be afraid to take it off-road.

            I can’t wait to see where you go.

Friday, May 4, 2012

May, 2012-- How much activity?

Spring is in the air. . .and baseball, track, tennis, Confirmation, prom.


For three hours of one day last week, we had only one car. The minivan’s tire blew, and it was in the shop during that crucial after-school time slot when Liam and Teenasia had baseball and soccer practice, respectively, on opposite ends of two neighboring suburbs. Jacob would need to be picked up from his tennis match across town, and Jamie would need to be dropped off at her Irish dance lesson, a few blocks away. With two cars, the routine was complicated, but possible. With one car, we needed to start thinking about calling friends for driving favors, or including into our routine the free shuttle provided by the repair shop.

If you looked at any one of our four children, you would not say he or she was overprogrammed. In addition to school, each child has one or two outside activities. For each individual child, the schedule is manageable. The complication is in the multiples. One family I know, also with four kids, had one weekend with eleven games.  

Parents’ responses to the heightened level of organized sports and activities for children are varied. Some parents embrace the opportunities their children have— feeling there is little downside to the competition, fun and talent development. Other parents approach their kids’ activity level more cautiously, wary of injuries and burnout that can happen when kids do too much too soon. Most parents are looking for that sweet spot of balance— finding the activities that engage their children without sacrificing the pleasure that can come from having unstructured time as a family.

Some experienced parents admit they got out of the blocks too fast with their first child, not recognizing how long they had for organized activities. Maureen, mother of five ranging from toddler to teen, said: “Early in my parenting career I felt pressure to get my young children involved in everything. I felt as if my kids would be socially awkward if I deprived them of activities. Several kids later, by the grace of God, I have wised up and learned that overdoing activities wreaks havoc on good families and makes everyone feel crazy.’ Our current family rule is one activity at a time.” Reginald, father of five children under ten, believes that young children first and foremost need time with parents. “My wife and I only have so much time to try and parent everyone while they are in the young ages,” he said. “Running them around takes us away from face-to-face time. I heard a speaker say that every kid needs a small town. And I think that as parents and a family, we are their first and hopefully strongest small town. I hope to develop other small towns for them—through more activities--  when they are older.”

My friend Denise, who has four children ages four to 11, told me that she and her husband Arthur take this view:  We may make a mistake and may miss signing them up for something for which they have a real talent. We are not going to stress over this.  We believe God is generous and gives us more talents and gifts than we can ever really use.”  Denise’s comment of God giving us an abundance of talents is a thought I return to when I consider our daughter Teenasia, who so far, has shown talent at every sport she has tried. While our boys are decent athletes, they are not gifted in the same way Teenasia is, and Bill and I are learning that Teenasia will likely need to leave some of her potential on the table as we together make choices about what sports to pursue seriously as she gets older.

Other friends, John and Anne, parents of four, have told us they look to their faith for guidance.  “We weigh the value of activities.  We try to discern what God’s will is for our time and talent – who is served by what we do,” said Anne.

Parents of middle schoolers and teens who have successfully shepherded their children through the plethora of activity options say they have needed to keep an eye on their child’s physical, emotional and mental health. Sports medicine doctors are reporting that sports injuries that once were only common in serious college athletes are now seen at the middle- and high school levels. Teens who have given their childhood to a club sport can feel an unhealthy sense of obligation to continue the sport beyond the point that it is enjoyable to them. “We have watched as friends have chosen a state cup soccer game over a graduation and we have not agreed with those choices,” said Pam, mother of two teen girls. “I think parents get so flattered and caught up when their child gets to a high level team that they accept Sunday morning games, tremendous expenses and family stress to maintain that status.  Our place of peace has come from questioning ‘at what price?’”

Talking to parents on the sidelines of tennis, soccer, baseball, Irish dance, and track this spring, I have come to the conclusion that there’s no easy answer in determining what level of activity and competition fits a family. The key seems to be in parents holding a sense of intentionality regarding the choice—to have a well-thought out reason for either choosing or not choosing a particular activity. The parents who seemed the most satisfied with their children’s activities were the ones who had spent some time thinking and discussing the reasons they were choosing a particular activity. And when to do all this thinking and discerning? Well, to me, a folding camp chair on the sidelines of a game on a sunny day, seems as good of a spot as any. 



Thursday, April 12, 2012

April, 2012 How much activity is too much?


For three hours of one day last week, we had only one car. The minivan’s tire blew, and it was in the shop during that crucial after-school time slot when Liam and Teenasia had baseball and soccer practice, respectively, on opposite ends of two neighboring suburbs. Jacob would need to be picked up from his tennis match across town, and Jamie would need to be dropped off at her Irish dance lesson, a few blocks away. With two cars, the routine was complicated, but possible. With one car, we needed to start thinking about calling friends for driving favors, or including into our routine the free shuttle provided by the repair shop.

If you looked at any one of our four children, you would not say he or she was overprogrammed. In addition to school, each child has one or two outside activities. For each individual child, the schedule is manageable. The complication is in the multiples. One family I know, also with four kids, had one weekend with eleven games.  

Parents’ responses to the heightened level of organized sports and activities for children are varied. Some parents embrace the opportunities their children have— feeling there is little downside to the competition, fun and talent development. Other parents approach their kids’ activity level more cautiously, wary of injuries and burnout that can happen when kids do too much too soon. Most parents are looking for that sweet spot of balance— finding the activities that engage their children without sacrificing the pleasure that can come from having unstructured time as a family.

Some experienced parents admit they got out of the blocks too fast with their first child, not recognizing how long they had for organized activities. Maureen, mother of five ranging from toddler to teen, said: “Early in my parenting career I felt pressure to get my young children involved in everything. I felt as if my kids would be socially awkward if I deprived them of activities. Several kids later, by the grace of God, I have wised up and learned that overdoing activities wreaks havoc on good families and makes everyone feel crazy.’ Our current family rule is one activity at a time.” Reginald, father of five children under ten, believes that young children first and foremost need time with parents. “My wife and I only have so much time to try and parent everyone while they are in the young ages,” he said. “Running them around takes us away from face-to-face time. I heard a speaker say that every kid needs a small town. And I think that as parents and a family, we are their first and hopefully strongest small town. I hope to develop other small towns for them—through more activities--  when they are older.”

My friend Denise, who has four children ages four to 11, told me that she and her husband Arthur take this view:  We may make a mistake and may miss signing them up for something for which they have a real talent. We are not going to stress over this.  We believe God is generous and gives us more talents and gifts than we can ever really use.”  Denise’s comment of God giving us an abundance of talents is a thought I return to when I consider our daughter Teenasia, who so far, has shown talent at every sport she has tried. While our boys are decent athletes, they are not gifted in the same way Teenasia is, and Bill and I are learning that Teenasia will likely need to leave some of her potential on the table as we together make choices about what sports to pursue seriously as she gets older.

Other friends, John and Anne, parents of four, have told us they look to their faith for guidance.  “We weigh the value of activities.  We try to discern what God’s will is for our time and talent – who is served by what we do,” said Anne.

Parents of middle schoolers and teens who have successfully shepherded their children through the plethora of activity options say they have needed to keep an eye on their child’s physical, emotional and mental health. Sports medicine doctors are reporting that sports injuries that once were only common in serious college athletes are now seen at the middle- and high school levels. Teens who have given their childhood to a club sport can feel an unhealthy sense of obligation to continue the sport beyond the point that it is enjoyable to them. “We have watched as friends have chosen a state cup soccer game over a graduation and we have not agreed with those choices,” said Pam, mother of two teen girls. “I think parents get so flattered and caught up when their child gets to a high level team that they accept Sunday morning games, tremendous expenses and family stress to maintain that status.  Our place of peace has come from questioning ‘at what price?’”


Talking to parents on the sidelines of tennis, soccer, baseball, Irish dance, and track this spring, I have come to the conclusion that there’s no easy answer in determining what level of activity and competition fits a family. The key seems to be in parents holding a sense of intentionality regarding the choice—to have a well-thought out reason for either choosing or not choosing a particular activity. The parents who seemed the most satisfied with their children’s activities were the ones who had spent some time thinking and discussing the reasons they were choosing a particular activity. And when to do all this thinking and discerning? Well, to me, a folding camp chair on the sidelines of a game on a sunny day, seems as good of a spot as any.