Holding Still

Separation

On Tuesday, Alex went to work in the city for the day, and returned late that night, to be home when the boys awoke. The last time this happened, I almost ran away from home. It was a horrible experience for all of us. However, many weeks have passed, Habtamu and Lire understand a lot more English and trust us more. It had to go more smoothly, right?

We prepared for it. I made cardboard cut-outs of our car, the bus, our house and "the city," along with cut-outs of all four of us to fit into the cars/house. We acted out all of us getting into the car, driving Daddy to the bus, then Daddy getting onto the bus, working in "the city," and then coming home again, in time for breakfast.

Habtamu loved the story and played with the figures and repeated it to us in his own words. (thanks, MEMF!) Lire just wanted to make sure the Lire figure was in the car at all times.

The day arrived.

The bus was eagerly awaited. We had told them that it was "BIG," which it is. The bus drove up and idled in front of us and the large group of people waiting with us. Daddy cheerfully said "Goodbye."

That was it. Screams, screams and more blood-curdling screams. We had to pry H's arms away from Alex. Meanwhile, poor L. sat on the bench and cried, understandably disturbed. Alex got on, the bus drove away, and Habtamu screamed. I tried to walk him to our car while carrying the sobbing Lire, but it would have probably dislocated H.'s shoulder. Instead all three of us sat in the dirt by the sidewalk, to allow other people to pass.

At times like this, you can either rebel, or accept. I wanted to grab him and yell -- STOP IT!!! I wished I could pick both of them up and drive home to let him scream in private. Maybe if I were Wonderwoman. I considered asking a passerby to carry L. while I carried the screaming H. That image brought a smile to my gritting teeth.

None of these things were going to work, so I gave in and just sat, waiting for him to stop. It was a hot, sunny day. I imagined how nice it would be at the beach later, if we could ever get there. H. tried half-heartedly to walk away down the street, but I held him, and I could tell he didn't really want me to let him go. I spoke soothingly to him about Daddy coming home, about going to the store for yogurt, about swimming at the beach. And we sat some more.

Three cement trucks drove by, and Lire cried, "Mommy, ooh!" His crying was done. I'm not even sure he knew why he was crying in the first place. H. stopped to look, and then substitued the screams for his usual moaning cry, which is much easier on the ears. We were able to walk across the street to the car, when I noticed the police car parked nearby. I couldn't see into the window because of the glare, though I could tell someone was sitting in the car. Isn't it weird how police cars make you feel instantly guilty? Is it just me? I felt like I had to have a story ready in case they came out and asked why I was torturing this child. Of course, no one came out of the car.

An ambulance drove by, sirens blaring. This was enough to stop H's moaning. Top it off with the fact that our neighbor was in the passenger seat and waved, well, that got Lire singing with glee. H. actually looked interested.

At the grocery store, H. perked up considerably and helped carry all of our purchases, and asked "Mommy, beach?" Yes, beach! The rest of the day went swimmingly.

We talked more about where Daddy was, how he'd be home for breakfast, how we all loved and missed him. He did punch Daddy's photograph at one point, but it was kind of funny, so we all laughed.

There were tears at bedtime, and H. ended up sleeping on the floor in protest of Daddy's absence. However, he fell asleep immediately, and only awoke once. I was able to comfort him (and his brother, who awoke in solidarity), and the two of them slept in the same bed for the rest of the night. Lire was tickled about it the next morning and wants to repeat the experience, but Habtamu will have none of it. "No. Habtamu's bed."

The smile on H's face the next morning was way too cute when he saw that, indeed, Daddy was home, as promised. L. decided Daddy had to know the whole story and told him, in Lire-ese, about the crying, the ambulance, the beach, all of it. Twice. Three times.

I don't think we'll have to go through this again for another month and a half, hopefully the screaming will be less or non-existent by then.

Developments

Habtamu is getting into opposites.

Daddy's a BIG man. Lire is little. (said with dramatic gesturing of his arms and fingers).

Hot? No hot. Cold. (once again, imagine dramatic reenactments of people touching hot things and then being very, very cold)

Mommy, flower blue? No blue, yellow. (ok, I know blue and yellow aren't opposites strictly, but to him they are different enough to be one or the other. Plus, they are the only color words he's got down.)

Both boys have slept through the night three nights in a row! Habtamu calls it "BIG sleepy." Lire had already accomplished this feat a few times himself, but now Habtamu is able to wait until 5:30 before he creeps into our bed. It has certainly improved Mommy and Daddy's quality and quantity of sleep, I can tell you.

Both boys have realized how AMAZING books can be. Thanks to Richard Scarry and Martha Stewart. Scarry's books have been great at increasing their vocabularies, and also reinforcing and validating the knowledge they soak in daily. For example: "BIG macchina (translation: tractor); they see tractors every day in the fields around here. Score.

Martha Stewart, you ask? Lire is a HUGE fan. No one appreciates a styled photo of a blueberry tart more than the L-man. Combine that with many pictures of flowers (ababa) and a few glimpses of water, and he is squealing with delight.

On the attachment side of things, we are going places, too. Habtamu has become my great protector, making sure his brother doesn't pull my thumb too hard (he's practically dislocated it with his iron grip); that I get enough food, that my hair is combed, that I have privacy while I pee (Lire doesn't understand this last one. I watch him pee, don't I?) We have also had some major lap and hugging times, which are improving our trust of one another. Lire feels a bit threatened, I think, by having to share Mommy. We are working on "taking turns." This goes for toys, washing the dishes, and Mommy and Daddy's laps. They both LOVE washing dishes. Lire isn't as good at it as Habtamu, but he puts his all into it.

Lire did a bit of regressing toileting-wise, staring me in the eye and piddling his pants in the middle of the yard. Then laughing. Ooh, was I mad. But now he's had two days with all of his "jintay" in the toilet. Jintay is a sort of slurring of the Amharic word for bathroom, which I don't remember now. He also wants to be a baby, which he illustrates by making baby noises and telling us he is only a "little bit." Habtamu wants to be a "BIG MAN" like Daddy, but Lire says no, he is only "yiddle." He also loves to be called "Baby Lire." Being the typical skizo-two year old, he also needs to do everything himself, including putting every condiment known to man on his food. Fistfuls of salt, globs of ketchup, piles of pepper. Hide the maple syrup, or beware.

That's us these days. More pictures to follow.

baby you can drive my macchina

Remember how I was so excited to get the boys to get into the car (macchina) with me and drive somewhere? Anywhere? Well, now they WANT to go for a drive in the car with JUST me. It has become a desired event. It is sweetest when you are the ONLY boy to be in the car with Mommy. Especially when you leave your brother angry and crying because he is not able to go, too. That seems to be one of the best parts: "Mommy and Habtamu only? Lire stay?" or alternately " Yiye go (Lire go). Habtam and Dauncey (read: Chauncey) home?!"

Another development is that Habtamu has newly discovered me, his Mommy. Which I realize is a good, good thing. We had a nice snuggle/nap together on the lounge chair outside today, and I put him to bed tonight, instead of his Daddy. But that boy has got a grip! If he chooses wrestling as his sport, I pity the person fool enough to get into his choke hold. Ouch!

He and I also visited a preschool today to see if we liked it. Which we did. It's a bit more expensive than we want of course, so we'll have to see. He played with two puzzles, sort of interacted with a child, flirted with the teachers and played on the outdoor equipment. It was a good time for us. In fact, it was a good day for all of us. We're having a lot of fun here, and though I know I will be kvetching and anxious again when the PMS hits, for now I'm going to enjoy it.

what's my line?

Getting to know the boys has been more surprising and gradual than with any other person I've known. With friends, boyfriends, co-workers, there is off-time. You go home after a day together at work, on a date, on a jaunt. Time to reflect. Plus you're not physically exhausted most of the time. I've taught small children for a while, and I've always enjoyed getting to know my students over the year. Kids I didn't feel I had a connection with would become my most enjoyed cohorts by June. I'm not sure what I thought it would be like getting to know Habtamu and Lire. Sort of like the students in my classes, sort of like the twin boys I babysat for years ago.

The situation of the boys being "ours," and the fact that there are very few breaks from their presence at the beginning, combined to confuse me (and them too, I'm sure). I have never known what it feels like to be a mother, and I'm not sure I do yet. I know how it feels to be a teacher, so that has served me. Except that I don't get to go home afterwards. It's been a combination of teacher and babysitter at first, at least for me.

Likewise, they didn't know what our function was. No matter how many times the nannies and we ourselves told them that we were to be their mother and father, I can only imagine that they wondered how much longer they were going to be with us before they moved on again. They may still think that, though I believe they're trusting us more, and allowing themselves to relax. Lire has gotten there more easily and faster than his older brother. Habtamu is slower to trust, but I keep catching him looking to see if I am watching him as he hits the wiffle ball off the tee, or rides his bicycle in the beach parking lot.

I have to keep reminding myself that these little people are here to stay -- and I have to do a better job of letting them know that I'm here to stay, too. I think we've been consistent, have stuck to a routine, are firm with our boundaries. But I haven't been as present as I would like to be. I've been too stuck in my thoughts of the future, my concerns about how Habtamu will navigate a school situation, if I'm getting enough sleep. This morning when the boys joined us in our bed, I decided not to worry about whether they would sleep more, thus allowing me more sleep. I just gave them each a kiss, cuddled with Lire (H. was cuddling with Daddy), and slept. It sounds simple, and obvious, of course. Which it is. But I've been so anxious, sometimes I would miss the kisses, phone in the cuddling.

I think this post meandered from being about getting to know the boys and more about me accepting the boys. In the beginning, I was in survival mode, which was necessary and got me through. I had to manually shift myself into a "being" mode, so we can all just be ourselves. I'm certain I'll shift gears again, I'm embarrassed to admit. But I am conscious of it now, so I'll be able to kick myself back into the present more easily. Like the way Habtamu is having an easier time kicking himself out of his funks. It's not easy for him, but it's getting easier.

If you're wondering, we were all able to sleep an additional sweet 30 minutes or so this morning.

"juice"

Milestone: Got both of the boys into the car with ONLY ME driving (no Daddy, no grandparents). Happily, I might add, and went shopping for fruits and veggies at our local organic farm. I hesitantly mentioned jumping into the macchina (car) and getting some vegetables, fruit and ababa (flowers), and they said "Yay!"

We discussed stopping and going, (stop signs), big trucks, horses neighing, and the thirsty car needing gas on our way there. They very much enjoyed filling the baskets with food, but no, we don't need three heads of cabbage, thank you very much.

The Vit@min Water became an issue, unfortunately. Habtamu called it "juice," so I said we could get "only one," (something Habtamu understands and likes to enforce with his brother). He put one into the basket, and Lire saw this. He got one too, even though both H. and I repeated our mantra "only one." I figured I could secretly stash it back onto a shelf when he wasn't looking, but he never let it go. That's one of his charms. Once he has something in his hot little hands, that's it. Death Grip 2007.

I decided we could use two Vit@min Waters, I mean, who couldn't? Daddy can use it as a drink mixer. We arrived home with only one incident of Mommy pinching H's hand in the car door (!), and it was time to open the "juice." "Only one." Habtamu said, "Mommy, Daddy, Habtamu, Lire SHARE." He got that we were opening one and saving the other. Unfortunately, "share" is a word Lire despises with all of his 29 pounds. Once he saw "his" juice being put in the fridge, his body fell to the floor, limp and despondent. Legs splayed out, arms stiff with anger, frustration, injustice. Big, juicy tears flowed as he screamed at how absolutely criminal our behavior was. What interested me was that usually he saves these major screamfests for when he bangs his head or his brother pinches him.

About 15 minutes later Daddy arrived to join us for messai (lunch), distracting L. enough to stop crying for about 10 minutes. He took his formerly sour juice and drank it with gusto, banging his head on the counter. Another, shorter bout of tears this time.

A helping of yogurt, 2 pieces of peanut butter dabo (bread) later, and he is asleep. Ahh.